Alfred Jones and the Lost City of Gold
by Abarero
Summary: Sequel to Curse of the Pharaoh. America and England are back again on another adventure as they head to South America in search of the legendary Lost City of Gold. But they'll need more than luck to get through the strange magic protecting the city. USUK
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** Sequel to Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh, the 2nd story in my Indiana Jones-esque adventure universe. Reading the other story first would be advised, as elements of it will be referenced, but it's not completely necessary. This story takes place about four months after the first story. Thanks to everyone who commented on the first story and I really hope you enjoy this one!

* * *

**Alfred Jones and the Lost City of Gold**

_It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to._

- J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Fellowship of the Ring_

* * *

His heart was hammering in his ears, eyes wide and muscles taut in wait. It was a very dire situation and if he didn't act carefully, everything he'd been working towards would be in vain. And he was almost there! So close he could practically taste it.

Checking his gun, he realized that he had just one shot left. The helicopter would reach the designated pickup zone in one minute and if he wasn't there, it was too late. He'd be left behind.

He had no choice but to make a run for it and hope and pray that his single bullet would be enough to make it.

_Okay, let's do this,_ he thought to himself, taking a deep breath. As he opened his eyes, he made a dash for it.

It was almost easy, _too easy_, he realized as the helicopter hovered overhead. They were unfurling the ladder right now, and with outstretched finger tips he just barely grabbed it.

That's when it grabbed him from behind.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhh!"

Forgetting his limited ammo, he shot wildly at his assailants. The single bullet struck one of them, but the hollow clicks did nothing to stop the others.

He'd come so close. So, so close.

"Fucking zombies!" A voice swore next to him, as a barrage of shots fired into the crowd.

America's eyes lit up as he turned to his gaming companion. "Tony! I thought they got you!"

"Like a few infected humans can compare to my intellect. Fucking bullets need to be stronger."

As Tony's player in the game successfully took out the horde of zombies and rescued America's player, the two of them grabbed onto the helicopter's ladder and were pulled to safety.

The screen flashed a triumphant: MISSION COMPLETE, and America let out a cheer.

"Tony, you're the best!" He exclaimed, giving his alien companion a hug around the middle. "I can never get through these zombie games without you."

Tony rolled his eyes, or at least that's what America suspected the strange movement of his pupils was. "It's fucking simple if you keep your head."

America gave him a sheepish grin, but patted him on the head nonetheless. "Yeah well, maybe someday zombies won't completely freak me out. But come on, you gotta admit- that last level was fucking _intense_!"

The alien seemed to consider this before giving America a quirk of a smile in return. "It was enjoyable for a mere simulation of a zombie apocalypse. But now I require more fucking hot chocolate."

Grinning, America looked at the alien's empty mug and pointed towards the kitchen. "I left the mix out on the counter, so just make yourself some more."

"_He_ isn't in there, is he?"

Sighing, America glanced up at the ceiling. "No, England isn't in the kitchen. And I told you to stop calling him _he_. He has a name you know! We're going to be leaving on an adventure soon and he's jet lagged, so he's taking a nap." The alien seemed to perk up at that and America added. "And don't you bother him, okay? Come on Tony, you two promised that you'd try to get along for me…right? I mean, it's almost Christmas…"

Between the big blue eyes and the pout, even the alien was unable to fight back. "I will uphold that agreement for your sake, America."

"Thanks Tony." He gave the alien another hug, and was about to follow him into the kitchen when a knock sounded on the front door.

The country and the alien exchanged a look as the knock sounded again.

"Looks like I'm getting the door while you're getting us more hot chocolate, buddy."

Tony reached up and took the mug America had clasped in his hands. "Marshmallows?"

"Fuck yeah!" America grinned back. "Loads of 'em, please!"

Tony snickered, grumbling under his breath as he went into the kitchen. "Fucking loves those marshmallows."

The knocking continued as America wove his way down the hallway and to the front door. Peering out the peephole, he grinned. He'd been hoping that this would come in time.  
"Hey!" He said, opening up the door and smiling.

"Here's the information you requested, Mr. Jones."

America beamed down at the plain manila envelope, before launching himself forward to give the secret agent a one-armed hug. "Thanks, Harrison. This is so awesome! Oh, and I've told you a million times, when no one else is around you can call me America."

"But Sir, there is…" He paused as the odd shadow in the doorway revealed none other than Tony.

"Oh that's just Tony. You know him, right?"

"Of course, I did his clearance paperwork in 2000 that was forwarded to all relevant governmental agencies. It's just…." Harrison's stoic face cracked a smile. "I was a bit surprised by his rather festive sweater."

America regarded the tacky Christmas-themed sweater the alien wore and shrugged. "Oh he loves Christmas, dontcha Tony?"

"Better get that fucking game I want this year," Tony grumbled before taking a sip from the cocoa mug in his left hand.

"He's very subtle about hinting for gifts, I see," the agent remarked. America just laughed.

"Yeah, Tony's really taken to the Christmas spirit. Anyways, I know you're busy, so thanks for the info"

The agent inclined his head. "I'm glad I could be of help on such short notice."

"Wish your family Merry Christmas for me," America said, holding up the envelope. "Because it looks like I might be pretty busy."

"I will. Good evening, Mr. Jones."

"Night Harrison! See you when I get back from my trip!"

As he closed the door, a voice spoke up from the staircase behind him. "Is that the information I think it is?"

"England!"

America closed the space between them, sweeping the groggy looking Brit into his arms. "I got it England, all the classified information we could dig up on Blake and Chapman."

Sleepily, England threaded his fingers up into America's hair and leaned his forehead against America's. "Brilliant. We should be all set then for tomorrow." He yawned, burying his face into America's shoulder. "Terribly sorry I'm so out of it; my body is telling me it's one in the morning."

"Well, why don't we…"

"Your fucking cocoa is getting cold," Tony's voice cut in, nudging America in the leg with the warm mug.

"Tony, I…"

America frowned, looking between his alien friend and his boyfriend. He knew whoever he didn't chose would be furious with him.

Hoping that this worked out all right, America wrapped an arm around England's waist and turned to Tony.

"Why don't we all three go warm up in front of the fireplace? I'm pretty chilled since I was standing in the doorway so long, and England, you can curl up and nap if you want."

While America ushered the two into the sitting room, he didn't notice the glare they shot one another behind his back.

* * *

After dozing off again next to America on the couch, England had only woken up twice. The first time, he'd started awake as a loud explosion sounded from the big screen TV and both America and Tony had cheered on the other end of the couch.

Prodding America's side where his head was propped, England remembered muttering out a sleepy, "What the bloody hell are you watching?"

Much to his chagrin, England merely wished he had dreamed up the answer.

"We're watching _Indiana Jones_ for inspiration!"

"Figures," he vaguely remembered replying before he'd fallen back asleep.

The second time he'd awoken though, it was much more somber. The TV had been turned off and the room was lit only by the flickering light of the fireplace. England could feel America's hand absently rubbing up and down his arm and he allowed himself a small smile at that.

Tony, who had previously been seated on the other side of America on the couch, had moved to the nearby armchair and fallen asleep there. It appeared as if America had tucked him in with a small fleece throw blanket, while he'd covered England with a warm quilt.

As for America himself, he was focused entirely on the plethora of maps laid out on the coffee table before them. Some of the maps were brand new, spit out by a high tech computer using satellite imagery. But others were old, quite old, and their yellowed edges and stains stood out starkly in the dimly lit room.

"You awake?" America murmured, his hand stilling on England's arm.

"Yes. You didn't wake me, so don't worry."

"Ah, good. Just…looking over everything," America's eyes drifted back over to the maps. "Hey England, you really think we can do this?"

England sat up a bit at that, leaning in against America's side as he too glanced down at the maps. "Having second thoughts?"

He shook his head vehemently at that. "No just… I mean, look at this! Months and months of compiling information and what have we found out?" America pulled out one large map of the west coast of South America and ran his fingers over three large green squares. "Each of these regions has been searched and searched for Paititi, the legendary lost city of the Inca and…"

"It's always dead ends. Or they'll find something but…"

America frowned, "Yeah, something, but not Paititi. Machu Picchu is the closest they've found, but it's the city without the gold."

England's eyes darted northward, towards a mountain region they'd highlighted in yellow. "And all the journals and notes and history we've found tells us that when the last Sapa Inca, Atahualpa, was murdered his general hid the ransom gold instead of giving it over to the captors."

"Yeah, and I just have this gut feeling England. That Paititi and that lost gold are in the same place. If the Inca were going to go into hiding, they wouldn't go without their gold. Gold to them wasn't like money, it was religious."

Patting America's hand where it rested over the largest green square around Cusco, Peru, England gave him a smile. "I have to agree. As we've discussed, it would be one thing to run into hiding and leave your wallet behind. But quite another to leave the symbols of your gods that you believe will protect you and help you rise again to power."

"So you still think the key is the Llanganates?"

England looked back up to the yellow-highlighted mountains. "They crop up too often in the history of the treasure not to be significant somehow. And when educated men like Richard Spruce get drawn into that sort of legend, it has to have some meaning."

America nodded, reaching out and delicately picking up a bundle of old notes. "I still can't believe they let you just borrow Spruce's notes and Guzman's map from your National Archives at Kew."

"He's a famous botanist, only a few people go looking him up for treasure hunting. Plus, well…" England smirked, "Being the country does have its advantages when it comes to these sorts of things."

Laughing, America picked up the manila envelope, "Tell me about it. I had all our agencies run a deep scan on Barth Blake to get these. Turns out, I was able to pull up a lot of little notes here and there that might help us get in and out of the Llanganates in one piece."

"And considering that Spruce apparently tipped off Blake and Chapman…"

"The information combined should lead us where it supposedly led Blake- to the treasure in the Llanganates mountains!"

England frowned at this, his eyes once again on the mountains on the map. "Let's just hope it doesn't also lead to where it led Chapman and later on Blake- mysterious deaths."

"England, come on. Is this that old magic thing again? I mean, last time around you kept swearing to me that the Pharaoh's curse wasn't real and it turned out it wasn't. Why should Atahualpa's curse be any different?"

Pressing his hand over the Llanganates on the map, England chanted softly under his breath. "I seek the answers hidden in your past. Reveal to me your magic, your powers, your story. Show us what you hide within your depths and keep no secrets from us."

A swirl of purple mist started oozing out of the map's paper, burbling and gurgling as it glowed white-hot in the dark fire-lit room. A magic circle formed, pulsating with light.

"Reveal yourself!" England shouted and jets of light from the circle shot upward towards the ceiling of the room, slowly scrawling out something in the air.

When it finished, he looked over to America who was staring up at it in shock. "E-England, what is that?"

England looked up at the cryptic symbols burning bright red in the air of the room. "That's just it America….I don't know. It's revealing something to me, but it's something I cannot read or decipher. I've been through countless books since we decided on this trip and nothing can tell me what it means."  
"And you didn't want to show me this unless I brought it up because you thought I'd get worried?"

England reached out towards the writing and as he drew his hand closed in the air, the symbols disappeared into smoke. "I didn't want to concern you over something I couldn't prove scientifically or even magically. But the fact is, there is _something_ in those mountains. Something that is letting me read their message. It could be a curse; it could be our answer as to where Paititi is hidden. There's only one way to find out…"

America clutched England's hand and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Then it looks like the Llanganates it is! You can keep me safe from any ancient voodoo going on and I'll be the awesome hero who keeps you safe from all the other stuff those mountains can throw at us. Together, we'll crack this mystery yet!"

"Glad to see you're not freaked out over that," England teased.

"Pfft. That's nothing after the zombie horde Tony and I had to fight off in the video game earlier. Give me eerie writing over zombies any old day!"

"You're so weird, you know that?"

America nuzzled into England's side. "Awww, but who loves my weirdness? I think that someone is _you_." He punctuated the last word with a kiss on England's nose.

"You're in an awfully good mood for it being…" England glanced at the clock on the mantle. "Three in the morning."

America shrugged. "You know how I am the night before an adventure; I'm always too excited to sleep."

That statement triggered something else in England's mind and he glanced over to the calendar. "And you're quite all right with us possibly not getting home before Christmas?"

"December's the best time to risk the Llanganates and well," America flushed, his rosy cheeks quite noticeable in the firelight, "as long as I get to spent Christmas with you, that's all I need."

England blushed, clearing his throat before leaning in and pressing a light kiss to America's lips. "Well then, I suppose that settles it, since I'm quite content to be in your company as well."

America grinned and was about to lean in for another kiss when a voice interrupted them. "Please fucking get a room."

Jerking apart, America sighed and looked over to where Tony was glaring at them from the armchair.

"Tony…"

The alien crossed his arms. "I said please."

Giving England an apologetic glance, he gave his hand a squeeze and quietly murmured, "I'll be up in a second, okay?"

"All right…"

Shooting the alien a glare over his shoulder, England picked up the quilt and headed upstairs to the bedroom. America ran a hand through his hair and knelt down next to the chair where Tony sat.

"Tony, what's up?"

The alien averted his eyes, before grumbling out, "Fucking spending Christmas without me."

America's eyes went wide and he pulled the small grey alien into a hug. "Tony, you're one of my best friends, you know that? You've been there for me a lot. Heck, you even time traveled to visit me back in the 20s before I first found you in New Mexico. But England, he's…"

"Special," Tony finished.

"Yeah. But I'll miss you tons, you and Whale both! Look, how about this…since I'll need someone to make sure Whale gets fed and I don't want you to be lonely, how about I have Lithuania and Poland stay over?"

Tony brightened at that. "Liet? For Christmas?"

America nodded. "I'd have to check with them in the morning before we fly out."

Reaching out his shorter arms, the little alien wrapped America in a hug. "Better be fucking safe without me."

"Aww, you worried about me?"

Pulling back, Tony gave him a serious stare. He glanced to where the cryptic writing had floated in the air, and for a moment, America wondered how long he'd been awake and listening in.

"I need to see your cell phone before you leave. Fucking need a way to call out no matter what."

America nodded. "That would be pretty awesome if you could fix it like that for me."

"Promise me, America," Tony said, his face stern, "that if you come up against something that even _he_ cannot deal with, that you will fucking call me."

Walking over to the end table, America snatched up his phone and walked over to hand it to his friend. "Okay, I promise. And I'll call Lithuania in the morning to see what they have planned for the holidays, all right?"

Taking the phone from him, Tony held out his hand. "Good luck, America. You and him."

America took it to shake, but also leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the alien's forehead. "Thanks for worrying about me _and_ England, Tony." He smiled down at him then. "Goodnight."

"Have a satisfactory night, America."

* * *

"I still can't quite believe it, you know." England said, adjusting the straps on his parachute pack.

They were flying high above Peru, getting closer and closer to their drop location. After going over and over their belongings to make sure that they had all they needed in the two singular backpacks they could take with them, they'd rendezvoused with their pilot for this adventure. Namely, the only other country adventure-crazy enough to be willing to drop two of his fellow nations into such a deadly mountain range by themselves.

"Almost there, mates!" Australia called back to them, "Get your gear in order!"

"All right!" America called back, before turning back to England. "I'm telling you England, Tony's worried about _us_. You saw how fussed he was about my phone this morning right?"

England frowned, not liking to admit it, but unable to deny it after the exchange he'd had with the alien before leaving. "I suppose. He did insist I knew how to use it to contact him should you come into harm I couldn't use my magic on."

"See. I don't know if he's just worried about me or there's something he knows that he's not telling us, but well… he wished us _both_ good luck. That's a vast improvement for him towards you, you know?"

England chuckled. "Well, it has been awhile since he tried to cuss me out in my mind at least."

America grinned. "See! You'll be best buddies in no time!"

"I wouldn't count on that, America."

"Old Bushybrows is quite right." ("Bushybrows is rich coming from you!" England had shot back.) Australia remarked with a laugh. "That alien of yours is as mad as a cut snake when it comes to you."

"But…"

"Save it, mate, we're nearing your drop point. You said anywhere in this region that isn't covered in clouds and looks flat right?"

"That's right," England put in, looking out the door over the landscape.

The Llanganates were beautiful from here, even if they did look a bit intimidating with their foggy mountain peaks and dense vegetation.

"Thanks again for dropping us off, Australia. Didn't think anyone else would be up to it," America remarked, tugging at all the harnesses on his parachute to make sure it was snugly on.

"No worries. Just make sure you leave your normal packs on the red square in the back so I can drop it down once you land." The plane jolted at that, and Australia frowned. "Well then, there's some right nasty weather in that cloud up ahead, so best be saying our goodbyes for now."

Walking over to the sliding door of the plane, America and England glanced out at the rugged landscape below.

"We'll be in touch once we land!" America yelled over the rush of the wind as he checked over his equipment one last time and pulled his goggles down over his eyes. "Ready England?"

England checked over his equipment, tugged his goggles down and gave America a nod. "Quite. Let's do this."

"Jump in 3….2…1!"

America and England jumped out, both arching back to stabilize their fall as they started their decent towards the ground. The blurs of the clouds, the mountains and the vegetation gained some clarity as they flipped forward into their freefall positions.

Reaching out a hand, America grabbed England's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Hey England!" He yelled out. "Guess what?"

"What?" He yelled back.

"I love you!"

England flushed, turning his head away and sputtering indignantly. "Bloody hell America…"

"What's that? You love me too?"

Turning back towards him with every intention of telling him what for, England felt the words die on his lips as he saw America's dorky grin silhouetted by the sun off to their left.

With a sigh, he gave America's hand a slight squeeze and muttered back so softly the wind almost carried it away. "Love you too, you git."

If possible, America's dweeby grin grew wider and he used his grip on England's hand to tug himself in the air towards him. Their noses bumped and both of them laughed a bit as they attempted to maneuver their freefalling forms so they could kiss.

They finally managed it, goggles clattering together as they leaned in and claimed each other's lips.

"Okay, gotta let you float off a bit so we can get these things open. Meet you on the ground, England!" America called out, reaching back to deploy his chute.

It opened without a hitch, jerking him upwards slightly as the chute caught the air. Beside him, England did the same, his chute lifting him back up to where America was floating.

"Well then Llanganates, here we come!" America whooped out.

England let himself smile at that, and was just about to call back over to him, when a gust of wind came at them out of nowhere.

"Must be that weather front Australia mentioned," he called over to America. "Think we can still make our drop point all right?"

"Yeah, we're gonna be…"

But whatever America was about to say was cut off as the sharp winds cut upward, pushing England and his parachute up and twisting America's parachute into a knot. As the air was quashed out from under the chute, he began to plummet towards the ground.

"No! America!" England yelled out, his eyes wide in horror as he realized that the reserve chute would do no good unless the first chute was cut loose.

Knowing it was extremely risky at this altitude, but seeing no other way to help him; England reached into the side of his pack and pulled out his hook knife.

Reaching back, he severed the cords to his parachute, allowing him to freefall towards America. If he could get to him, he could deploy his reserve chute and they'd both land safely. If not…

He clenched his eyes shut at the thought, for in this terrain, there was little hope of a safe landing even with a working parachute.

Steeling his nerve, England continued his drop, calling out as if it was his last hope of seeing his partner safe and unharmed.

"AMERICAAAAA!"

* * *

Notes:  
[1] In the late 1700s, a miner named Don Atanasio Guzman, who worked the old Inca mines in the Llanganates, manages to draft a detailed treasure map. But before he can claim his prize he too disappears in the mountains. The treasure is forgotten until…

[2] The gold trail went cold until the 1850s, when English botanist Richard Spruce traveled to Ecuador in search of the cinchona tree, the seeds of which were used to produce the antimalarial drug quinine. Spruce, when he finally returned to Britain, reported that he had uncovered Valverde's Guide and a related map, made by Guzman.

[3] In 1886, working with Spruce, a pair of treasure hunters reportedly solve the riddle of Valverde's Guide and find the treasure. Their names are Captain Barth Blake and Lieutenant George Edwin Chapman. So, why didn't Blake and Chapman claim the treasure? Because Chapman didn't survive the journey out of the mountains and Blake fell overboard on a trip to North America to sell the gold they'd taken from the cave.

[4] Paititi is a legendary Incan lost city, or an utopian rich land, said to lie east of the Andes, hidden somewhere within the remote rain forests of southeast Peru, northern Bolivia, or southwest Brazil.

[5] Most archaeologists believe that Machu Picchu was built as an estate for the Inca emperor Pachacuti. Often referred to as "The Lost City of the Incas", it is perhaps the most familiar icon of the Inca World.

[6] Atahualpa was the last Sapa Inca (sovereign emperor) of the Inca Empire.

[7] The Treasure of the Llanganates refers to a huge sum of worked gold and other treasures supposedly hidden deep within the Llanganati mountain range of Ecuador by the Inca general Rumiñahui.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes:** So sorry for the delay on this. I was working on getting the final three chapters of my other chapter fic, The Adventure of the Famous Fiddler finished up along with having a bit of a writer's block. Also, there's some Poland/Lithuania in this fic that will be cropping up from time to time from here on out. Hopefully this was worth the wait!

* * *

"Lieeeettt!"

The short grey blur barreled at the brown-haired nation opening the door, catching him around the middle and embracing him.

"Oh, Tony, hello there!" Lithuania replied with a smile, reaching down to pat the alien on the head.

Unseen by him, the alien flushed at the gesture, his three hearts swelling with emotion. If there was one entity on the planet that had endeared himself to the alien outside America, it was Lithuania, no question about it.

"This is like going to be the most totally amazing Christmas _ever_," a bubbly voice said from behind them.

Poland blew a bubble and it popped, the sound echoing in the hallway as it did so. Tony felt a small wave of jealousy wash over him, but unlike England who caused a perpetual irritation to him, Poland was different.

"We've totally gotta shop in NYC and get all like all the fabulous stuff on Christmas sales, Liet! Oh hi Tony, you can like help me pick out lingerie for hotstuff over here, okay?"

As Lithuania sputtered at the implication that he would wear such a thing, Tony went over to take Poland's egregious stack of pink luggage from him. With a point of his finger, the pile glowed blue and hovered into the air.

"That would be fucking awesome," the alien said. "I'll put your things in your guest room." As he said this, the pile levitated itself up the stairs and around the corner. Soon after, Lithuania's stack of luggage followed in the exact same manner.

Poland rummaged through his handbag a moment and drew out a long scarf. The majority of it was made in alternating kiwi and mint green stripes, but the tassels extending from each end were bubblegum pink. With a flourish, Poland looped it around Tony's small shoulders.

"Here's our early gift for you, Tony. Liet hand knitted most of it, but I like added the pom-poms on each end."

Tony smiled, running a long grey finger appreciatively over the knitting. "Thank you."

Pressing a quick kiss to his head, Poland left a pink lipgloss mark behind. "So, I heard America had an awesome like totally perfect for two bathtub installed recently…"

Shooting a bashful look at Lithuania, Tony replied, "Fucking tub is great."

With a whoop, Poland had pulled Lithuania over next to him. "We like totally need to house/whale/alien-sit for America more often! Because I like don't know about you, but that long flight totally made me feel all like grody and stuff. So… I was uh…"

He dropped his eyes to the floor, a sudden bout of his shyness surfacing. Lithuania just sighed, used to Poland's whims. "A bath would be nice, Poland."

Without a word, Tony pointed them in the direction of the bathtub they were seeking out and went back in the living room. On the television screen, there was a large green topographic map covered in longitude and latitude lines. Tony picked up the game controller and pressed the A key. Suddenly, a red dot started to move quickly down the screen.

Tony frowned.

"Tony, we're like totally having a bubble bath if you wanna come enjoy the party!" Poland yelled out from upstairs.

Tony looked back to the screen then upstairs towards the bathroom. There was one very good reason why he got along so well with Lithuania's boyfriend and not America's. Namely the fact that Poland didn't seem to mind Tony tagging along places at all and quite often encouraged it, if nothing else but the fact that he found the alien amusing.

At the sound of Poland's giggles and Lithuania's half-hearted "Poland, stop it!" amidst his own laughter, Tony put down the controller. Both America and England had sworn to him that they'd use the phone if they encountered something dangerous, but Tony didn't quite trust the Brit to do so.

Hoping America's boyfriend cared about him as much as America swore he did, Tony strongly thought to himself that a certain fucking limey had better save America from the fall his tracking device indicated.

Because if not, there would be hell to pay.

* * *

For some odd reason, England felt a chill go down his spine. It was as if that blasted alien's voice was echoing inside his mind, saying very intensely, "You'd better save him you fucking limey."

He gritted his teeth and willed himself downward faster. As if he'd let that _thing_ be right about needing a backup phone to protect America. The nation had a damned loving boyfriend to take care of him, thank you very much. And just like England was determined to make sure America was safely snatched from his fall, he was equally determined to prove he was all the protection America needed.

Coming within arm's reach, England strained to the full length of his arm and thankfully snagged hold of the back of America's flight suit.

"America!" He yelled out hoarsely, his fingers aching to have more than a small patch of cloth holding him safe, but knowing it was not possible to hold him with more than one hand while the hook knife (so important to saving America from his current dilemma) was still held aloft in his left hand.

"E-England," he gasped out, "how did you…"

"No matter now, you git!" He had to practically yell in America's ear, the rush of the wind being so loud and the ground coming ever closer. "Now hold still."

He felt the fabric slipping through his fingers and felt his own heart stop at the thought that he could have America so close, yet could still so easily lose him again.

It was a sobering thought.

With a burst of adrenaline, he dared let go of America's back; then quick as a flash, he swept his arm down and around to scoop America flush up against him with his right hand.

Holding America close and safe, _so safe_, and thanking the heavens that he could feel that strong heartbeat through his back, England knew he had just one chance to make this work.

Taking a deep breath, he drew his hook knife and blindly reached behind himself to feel around for the tangled parachute that was whipping around above them in the wind. He felt the cords brush the back of his hand and he quickly twisted his wrist around, severing one cord and just nicking the other with the knife.

The parachute shuddered away from them at that, but that single, damnable, thread of the cord held on resolutely. England glared at it defiantly, about to attack it with his all his might, when America's sharp voice yelled out.

"England, the ground!"

Looking around, he saw how frighteningly near the ground now was, their bodies mere feet above the treetops now. His eyes went wide and his arm froze where it sought out the cord once more.

This was it. They'd fall together then.

But America had apparently realized what England had been trying to do, for he quickly twisted to the left, stretched out his arm and grabbed up the parachute's cord.

"England, cut it now!"

He didn't need to be told _that_ twice and hastily finished the job, the brightly colored parachute fluttering away in the harsh winds. The cold air bit at his skin as he groped to deploy his own reserve chute, for there was no time to deploy America's as well. It would be as if they'd jumped in tandem, but without the stronger parachute to support them.

Well, they'd just have to bloody well take it on the chin and deal, inevitable bruises and bumps and all.

"Hold on, love," England called out, yanking the release cord for his reserve parachute and quickly flipping his hook knife inward so it would cut his palm rather than America's chest.

Gripping him tightly now with both hands, they were both yanked upward as the wind caught their singular parachute. It wouldn't last for long, England knew, with their combined weight, but it would allow for them to be a little more prepared for a rough landing.

"It won't hold us both for long," America called out, as if reading England's very thoughts at that moment. "So we'd better get ready for a harsh impact."

England pressed a kiss to the back of America's neck and clutched him closer, already feeling the hook knife biting into his hand. "I'm quite ready for it so…"

America laughed sardonically and finished off England's statement. "Bring it on!"

* * *

They smashed through the treetops, toppling through the branches with the simple force of gravity pulling them downward. America's arm smacked soundly into an extending branch and he swore loudly at the pain, the jolt of force flipping them sideways and catching their parachute and only lifeline at this point into the treetop next to them. As the thick leaves snagged and tore through the chute, they plummeted the rest of the way to the ground, America barely having the time and the piece of mind to shift around quickly so he could take the brunt of the impact on his back.

Slamming into the ground, they felt the thorn bush they landed in rip and tear through their flight suits, slicing into their skin. America let out a gasp of pain as he hit first, and England hissed a moment later as the hook knife cut a chunk of skin out of his palm from where his hand was trapped between America's back and the ground.

Almost instantly, they both weakly scrambled up, yanked off their googles, and frantically looked to one another as they blurted out, "Are you all right?"

America let out a weak laugh before coughing, the wind being knocked from his lungs at the severe hit he'd taken in the back. England tugged his hands free from where they were pinned, quickly reaching forward to cup America's face.

"Christ, America you bloody hero!"

America gave him a feeble smile before his eyes went wide in shock at the feeling of a thick dampness on his cheek. "England, your…" He reached up his own hand and drew it back coated in blood. "Your hand…"

"It's nothing," England said, brushing it aside, but America insistently reached out to gently clasp it.

He winced at the sight of the gash in England's hand.

"That isn't…" he paused, another coughing fit over taking him, "nothing."

"Yes, and neither is this," England retorted, reaching his right hand over to the swollen elbow that had hit the tree.

Leaning up awkwardly, America pressed a quick kiss to England's lips. "And thanks to your quick thinking it isn't worse. Just imagine how bad we'd be if we didn't have any chute to cushion our landing."

Pulling his injured hand away from America's gentle grip, England once more cupped America's face, this time closing the distance between them and peppering light kisses down his face: first on his forehead, then on the tip of his nose, and last and deeper, he captured America's lips with his own.

As he pulled back, he leaned his forehead down to rest against America's. "I should be thanking you for taking the brunt of the fall on yourself, git. Your back is going to be one giant bruise in the morning, even with the chute pack there to take some of the damage."

America tried to shrug, but merely hissed in pain as he did so. "Not our most heroic start to an adventure…"

England slowly sat back, assessing the personal injuries they'd incurred. America's back was certainly bruised, his right elbow was heavily swollen, and his body was littered with small cuts from the bushes. England gently cradled his bleeding hand and knew he was probably covered in just as many cuts, if not more.

Slowly, as to not incur the wrath of any more thorns, England got to his feet. Tugging loose his chute pack, he tossed it down over the thornbush.

"Hand up yours, we'll have to make a path to get out of this thicket of thorns."

With lots of hisses in pain, partially from his elbow and partially from the cuts, America finally wiggled free from his pack, pulled his thankfully unbroken glasses from the side pocket, and handed the bag up to England. Standing with wobbly legs, America put his glasses back on, losing his balance as he did so and having to brace himself on the shorter nation's shoulder.

"Heh. Think I hit the ground a bit harder than you're supposed to."

England reached up a hand and patted America's. "You're just bloody insane, that's all. Now follow me. We'll have to walk across our packs to get out of this mess."

With only two small parachute packs as a safe place to step, they very carefully edged onto them, keeping as close as possible to each other and as far away from the brambles surrounding them as they could. It was a tedious process, inching forward step by step until their four feet were all crowded onto one pack, then reaching behind them to pick up the other pack and toss it once again in front of them. Up ahead, England's reserve chute weakly fluttered in the winds from where it was tangled onto a tree and they made for that place, knowing that the bush probably didn't reach that far.

Finally, after what seemed like several minutes but was probably only one or two, they managed to find themselves in a clearing near the base of a tree.

Together, they stumbled forward, arms around each other's shoulders to support one another.

"Sit down now. I'll contact Australia and arrange the drop of our goods. Got to get you bandaged up as soon as possible and perhaps get a cold pack on your back."

A loud rip echoed in the clearing and a strip of the tattered cloth from America's flight suit was thrust into England's still-bleeding hand.

"I'll sit down once I've got your hand fixed up, you goof."

England huffed, but not about to make America stand any longer than he had to in his condition, he pulled his hand away and sat at the tree's base. Shooting America a look, he patted the ground beside himself with his good hand. "Come on down, America, I was promised a doctoring after all."

America's grin, which had been not quite as brilliant and a little more apprehensive than England preferred up to this point during their whole landing adventure, surfaced at this and he slowly sat down beside England and began fussing over his hand.

"How in the hell did you do this, England?"

"Hook knife. Had it in my hand when we landed."

America gently curled open England's fingers all the way as he brought the palm to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. "Luckily Dr. Jones is on the case, hmm?"

"Oh hush, you," England snapped back, his cheeks dusting with pink at the sly look America shot him. But once he felt the temporary bandage snugly in place, he shot back a look all his own. "Right then, shirt off, Mr. Jones. Dr. Kirkland has a patient suffering from stupid heroics to attend to."

America sighed, and began to tug at his flight suit. "The thanks I get for being an awesome hero…"

England helped him peel the suit off his back, the whole surface already dark with color from the bruised skin and covered in small thorn-cuts. "Your alien is going to murder me in my sleep with a laser gun if he sees you like this. He takes your health and well-being very seriously and if one hair of yours is out of place, then heaven forbid the person who let you befall it."

With a sentimental smile, America reached out and gently patted England's cheek. "Sounds like someone else I know, huh?"

At first, England was affronted at being compared to the very thing he was ranting about. But between America's dopey smile and his own racing heart, he knew it was nothing short of true. He _was_ just as bad, if not worse, when it came to making sure America was safe and visiting his wrath upon those who caused him any ill harm.

"Well, I…" England frowned, starting to rip the damaged flight suit into strips of fabric for bandages. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that I want to see you harmed. But honestly America, it's not like I'd get out a laser gun over it or some such bollocks."

America's smile didn't waver and England knew that he'd seen past his bluff. Oh blast it all, the boy knew him far too well.

With a sigh, he relented. "Right. So we both care about you very much."

At that, America reached over a hand and hooked his index finger around England's, being very careful not to jostle his injured palm.

"I'll just tell Tony that it was my choice so you wouldn't get hurt."

England snorted, "Oh yes, I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear that."

America gave his one-finger hold with England a light squeeze. "It's just the truth."

"Oh, you…" England huffed. "Just hush and turn around so I can bandage your back."

America obliged, and the two sat in a comfortable silence for awhile as England did what he could with their limited supplies for America's back. Reaching for the radio off their parachute pack, he tried to patch through to Australia's radio.

But all he got in return was static.

Cursing at it, and knowing that America's back desperately needed better ointment and an icepack, England tried once more to get a response.

This time, there was a strange hum under the static, but no amount of yelling and swearing at it could garner a response from their fellow nation.

England was just about to try once more when a chill ran down his spine, a distinct feeling in the air that made the whole situation even worse than it already was. He had a hunch America couldn't feel its presence, but the air was thick with magic; so much so that the hairs on England's arms prickled. It was seeping out from some nearby locale and trying to feel out the new intruders on the land protected by its boundaries and the mere feeling of made England's blood run cold. It was a warning. A very nasty one.

With a silent mantra in his head, he quietly cast a protective enchantment on both of them- okay, perhaps the one on America was a bit stronger, and inwardly he wondered what had they gotten themselves into this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:** I'm so sorry for the delay on this. I know it's been like...2 months, but I hope people are still interested in it. Enjoy!

* * *

America was bruised. Not just his back, that is, but his ego as well. This was a totally unheroic start to an adventure! Okay, so he'd been massively awesome and taken the brunt of the fall. Pretty heroic. But the whole tangled parachute and having to fall to his demise until England saved him? Not so heroic. Well, at least on his end it wasn't. And while America didn't mind England doing cool things like that now and then, he really needed to do some really awesome heroic things as well to balance it out.

Because hey, his memoir penned about Alfred F. Jones and his adventures needed to be as heroic as possible. Not just average heroic. Massively, amazingly, jaw-droppingly, heroic.

Though granted, Indiana Jones _was_ scared of snakes, so perhaps this wasn't too unheroic in comparison. Either way, America felt he really needed to up his heroism quota. And well, it'd be nice if his back wasn't so bruised either. Because- yeah, OW.

He was leaning back against the tree at the moment while England cursed into the radio. It wasn't getting reception, which wasn't surprising considering the strange anomaly that was the Llanganates range. Who knew what crazy shit was going on up in the sky to keep the radio signal from going through?

But it was England's sudden panicked expression and just a _feeling_ that England was extremely worried about something that really caught America's attention.

"Hey, you okay?"

"What?" He replied, distractedly. It seemed like he had been mumbling something under his breath. "Oh yes. Just can't get the radio to patch through."

"Give it here, I'll try it." America offered, figuring that if the radio was worrying England that much that he shouldn't be fussing with it.

England handed it over, still glancing around as if there was something in the air America couldn't see. America squinted. Well, maybe there was…some evil fairy or whatever crazy new imaginary friend England had thought up. It was definitely that look he got whenever magical things were involved though…

America picked up the radio, adjusted the signal and…it patched through immediately.

He blinked. "Err…Hello?"

"There you are, mate!" Australia's relieved voice came through, "I was getting a might bit worried, given the weather round here and that drop you took. Are you both all right or do I need to come down?"

"Slightly banged up, but nothing broken. We could really use the ice packs we have in our supply bags though…"

"Right'o, just figure out where and I'll drop them. You drifted a bit off target, so you'll have to radio me the new coordinates to your location."

Looking over to England, America blinked at the odd expression on his face. He looked downright incredulous; probably since the radio had just worked at first go when America had tried it.

"Guess it just needed my awesome," America quipped.

England just scowled, seeming pretty sour over the whole thing. "Bollocks," he murmured halfheartedly, before going back to staring off into the distance like something horrible was about to attack them any moment.

"Mate, you still there?" Australia's voice came over the line.

"Y-yeah, sorry!" America said, focusing back on the task at hand. He could worry about England's strange behavior later. "Booting up the GPS right now, so I should have some good ole Lat and Long soon!"

The GPS, like America's glasses, had thankfully survived the crash landing better than they had; but America was still unsure if it would be able to pick up any satellites through the thickening clouds overhead.

But despite his worries, England still looked even worse. "England, you sure you're all right?"

He snapped his head around and plastered on a neutral and less apprehensive expression. "Fine. Quite fine. Just hurry up and get our supplies."

Now even more concerned about England's strange actions, America took a deep breath and idly taped the side of his GPS as he waited for it to register. Finally, after what seemed like ages (but was probably just a minute or so) it connected with the satellites.

"Australia?"

"You got it?"

America punched it over to the schematic he needed. "Yep. Gonna read it off now. We're at one degree, fourteen minutes and thirty two seconds south on the latitude and seventy eight degrees, twenty four minutes and fifty eight seconds west, longitude."

"Hmm," Australia thought as he calculated his whereabouts. "Looks like I'm 'bout one click away from you two. Be there in a jiffy, mates."

"We'll keep an eye out for you overheard and signal you as we planned."

"Got it. Over and out."

Turning the radio off, America turned his attention to England. His shoulders were rigid, but it didn't seem to be from pain. If anything, England seemed so distracted by something else he didn't even notice that he was clenching his right fist tightly.

"England, your hand!" He cried out, reaching over to unclasp the injured hand that was now bleeding again.

For a brief moment, a look of panic flickered in England's eyes before the pain in his palm registered. "Shite," he swore. "Christ almighty...I'm being a right cock-up about this."

America pouted, giving England a reprimanding glance before pulling his bleeding hand back into his grasp and beginning to fix up the loose rudimentary bandage. "Yes, you are. What's going on England? This isn't like you."

The older nation bit his lip. "Just being a bit barmy, that's all. All rattled due to our troubles so far, probably over reacting you know?"

Reaching over with his good arm, America wrapped it around England's shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, everything's going to be all right. We've been through worse than this, right?"

England stalled a moment before saying, and not all that convincingly, "I suppose you're right…"

America sighed, running a hand up through his sweaty bangs. Okay, so England was keeping something from him again, just great. But this really wasn't the best time to sit down and have a heart to heart chat about whatever the problem was. They were both injured, Australia was flying their supplies in, and they had to get those packs and to the closest safe place to stay for the night before the sun started to dip any further down on the horizon.

Giving England a smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder, America turned back to their two squashed bags that were looking more like pincushions than backpacks at that moment. Carefully, he began to rifle through his backpack, pulling out some of their maps and notes. Skimming them over, America began to look around for anything that might indicate where they were. If, as Australia said, they were about one click- that is, one kilometer- from where they were supposed to drop, it shouldn't be too far to a safe place. But if they ended up on the other side of the river... America traced the blue line with his finger, grimacing as he read the contour lines around it. The elevations there were steep, and definitely not something he was looking forward to crossing in their current injured state.

"America," England's voice cut into his thoughts, "I hear a plane approaching, which is probably Australia since no one else is mad enough to be flying in these mountains."

"Right, let's send up the flare then."

England, probably in hopes America would stop questioning him about his behavior, stepped up to handle it. Rummaging around in his pack, he pulled out the flare gun, loaded the colored flare they needed and stepped back.

But even as he shot the white flare high into the air to give Australia their exact locale, America couldn't help but notice that England's shoulders still looked too tense. Something he highly doubted had anything to do with England shooting the gun with his left hand or the pain in his right hand.

As the sound of Australia's plane drew nearer, America began pulling out what they'd need to bring their other luggage down to the ground. Australia was going to drop it out of the main hatch of his plane, both large packs rigged with small parachutes with altimeters set to release them at a certain altitude. But with the way the wind was blowing in this area, and just the unstable nature of the entirety of these mountains, the three of them had developed a plan to ensure the bags landed safely within America and England's grasp.

"Let's see if all Australia's boomerang throwing lessons paid off, huh England?" America quipped, pulling out a sleek brown boomerang, adorned with white designs. It was classic in look, but the make was all modern.

And most of all, it was made for long distance throwing.

"I'm not counting on it, just so you know," the older nation remarked.

But America was all optimism, and well, he was in need of some new heroic act to put in his memoir. He shot England a cocky grin, eyed the spot where Australia was about to drop the bags, and cocked back his left hand to throw, lifting up his right arm to aim and…

His right arm, specifically his still-swollen elbow twinged sharply and he hissed in pain. That wiped all tension from England's face right off, replacing it with nothing but wide-eyed concern.

"America, your elbow…" He was there at his side immediately, fussing over the swollen joint.

Well, so much for heroics, America thought to himself. He needed a _good_ right arm to extend out and act as an aim for the horizon. And, he was running out of time.

"England, we've gotta do this together. Now listen quickly, I don't have much time to explain," he said, moving to stand closely behind England, his words ruffling through the shorter nation's choppy hair. "I need you to be my eyes."

"What?"

America lifted up his good left arm and slowly, but gently as to not hurt England's right hand, lifted up his right arm in front of him. "Level this out with what you're aiming for. In this case," America saw the plane open the hatch and the bags go toppling out of it. Once their parachutes deployed, they would only have a minimal amount of time to catch the ropes with the boomerang and drift them closer.

"Aim for the parachute ropes. Right above where they attach to the bags by about twelve centimeters."

England nodded, leaning back flush against America's chest. "Just tell me when you're ready."

Wrapping his right arm delicately around England's waist, America held himself steady against him, ready to throw when the time was right. He estimated the direction of the wind, cocked the boomerang to a forty five degree angle off of that, and pulled it back. "England, now!"

England, with the same tenacity America was certain he had back in his pirating days, fiercely focused on the target, bringing his right arm up with a snap, his bandaged hand acting as the point America would aim with.

"Let's hope what goes around comes around!" He joked as he let the boomerang fly.

The blur of brown pierced the sky, whirling past tree branches and nearly missing some of them. America only had a small pocket of open air to work with, after all.

Finally, just as he'd asked of England, the boomerang snagged the ropes of the parachutes about five inches up. The yank of the boomerang trying to return did just as they'd hoped it would- cause the parachutes to drift towards the owner of the boomerang.

America cheered, and leaned forward to press a kiss to England's temple. "All right, now we've got to catch it."

"We've got to what?" England asked, incredulous.

"Normally you catch the boomerang with two hands," America noted. "But either it'll disengage from the ropes and I'll need you to help me catch it or…"

England saw where this was headed, "Or it'll drag the bags all the way back and we'll have to catch them."

"Right."

"Remind me again why I let you and Australia talk me into this idea?"

America laughed, "Because I'd just handed you a mug of your favorite tea?"

England snorted, "Figures you bribed me."

"Incoming!"

Sure enough, the boomerang (with the two parachutes and two bags still being dragged with it) was right within their grasp. Without a word, America and England stepped to either side, each of them using their uninjured arms to reach up and grab a backpack. The boomerang, now freed from its towing job, went soaring past America's head until it skidded to the ground after hitting a tree.

"Seems like it wasn't such a bad idea after all, huh?" America asked, already starting to dig through the bag in search of a first aid kit.

England, who was looking a bit more relieved than he had been, swatted America's hands away from the first aid kit he was fumbling with. About to protest, America was silenced as England pecked a quick kiss to his lips.

"You can bandage my hand all you want once I get an ice pack strapped to your back, all right?"

America just nodded, nuzzling his face in England's hair a moment before giving his partner a wide grin.

"Doctor away, darling!"

* * *

America was quite certain his current look could be referred to as "heroically battered." In fact, he was so certain that this look had great hero-potential that he was just about to pull out his cell phone and snap a photo of himself for his memoir- all tousled blonde hair, khaki adventuring wear, a bandage on the cut on his left cheek, and a swath of gauze holding about three ice packs to his back. This had the effect of making his chest (which was showing a bit since he had several buttons unbuttoned) look very, well…heroic. Add in the gauze holding an ice pack to his elbow and it surely looked extremely, awesomely heroic.

"You're a right mess, you know that?" England remarked; all furrowed brows and worry.

America pouted. "What? I thought I looked rugged. See-" he pointed to his bandaged chest showing through the opening in his shirt, "Doesn't this look heroic to you?"

England flushed red. "Heroic… is not the word that comes to mind, no."

He blinked a few moments before he stopped being insulted and blushed as well. "Oh. Well," he chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "The Great Plains could always use some more British tourism, if you catch my drift?"

England, who was still in the process of changing from his thorn-torn jumpsuit into his khakis, gave America a very pointed look.

"What? Maybe later?"

England crossed his arms over his bare chest. "You're incorrigible," he groused before turning around to dig his shirt out of his bag.

America caught his wrist, his body warm against England's bare back.

"You, Mister Kirkland, need to stop being so _tense_." He punctuated his last word with a rub of his fingers into the knot of muscles where England's back swept up to his neck.

He hummed appreciatively, but his words were his usual grump. "We still need to get our tent up before the sun goes fully down, ah…" he paused as America's fingers worked at a muscle right by his shoulder blade.

"Shh, just relax…" America murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of England's ear.

"America, I'm just noting- ah, a little to the left there, yes that's it – that due to the storms in this region we couldn't take our tents with any sort of metal supports. And you know…know how…"

England sighed as America rubbed soothing circles as best as he could with his bum elbow, leaning back into the other nation's touch.

"Know what?" America asked, a hint of mischief in his tone. He knew he was getting England to loosen up whether he liked it or not.

"That…" England hesitated, his train of thought quite elsewhere as America's gentle hands continued their motions. "That…that those wooden supports take longer to get set up."

"Ah," he replied, reaching around as best as he could with his injured elbow to rub at England's temples. "Well once the hero's magic fingers are done here, we can do that then."

"You…you're…"

America grinned. "Amazing? Wonderful? The most awesome boyfriend in the history of ever?"

England snorted, his eyes starting to drift closed. "Putting me to sleep, you git."

At that, he jerked his hands back. "Ah, sorry!"

But England just shook his head, turning to face him with a sliver of a smile quirking at the corner of his lips. "No. Thank you. I rather…needed that."

He turned to America, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his lips, his good hand clutching at America's open shirt while his bandaged hand pressed to the bandages on America's chest.

Without a single word, America simply knew that England had been so tense because he was worried about his injuries. Then again, the bruise on his back sounded pretty terrible from all the swearing England had done on seeing it now that it'd had a while to get right nasty and turn colors.

With a fond smile, America gently took England's bandaged hand and lifted it up to his lips, pressing a light kiss on the bandages where they ran over his palm.

"Figured you could use some awesome to help your hand while we get the tent up."

England rolled his eyes. "You are the one who needs the fussing. Your back looks like Jackson Pollock's _Summertime: Number 9A_ from the Tate Gallery."

America blinked. "Is it really all those colors?"

"Most of them. Thankfully not much dark purple or black, and I think the green is from grass stains, but yes…plenty of warm purple, yellows and reds."

On hearing this, America just smiled. "Glad to know you think my back is a work of modern art, England."

At that quip, England reached over to America's bag, picked up his Indiana Jones hat and shoved it on the younger nation's head. "Oh hush, you."

America started to laugh, but stopped abruptly, his hand darting out and grasping England's shoulder.

"England, don't move for a second, okay?"

England blinked. Following America's gaze, he saw what had caused the sudden concern.

Standing a couple meters away from them, about three feet tall while down on all fours, rustling through the forest's undergrowth, was a large bear. It was completely black outside a splotch of golden-beige around its eyes, making it stand out rather starkly against he mostly green and brown surroundings.

America gave England's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he felt him tense up. Encountering wildlife in areas that rarely saw humans was always risky business as you could never quite be sure how the animal would react.

That and even America was certain England was thinking back to their last adventure and their unfortunate encounter with a certain possessed evil duck.

With a heroic flourish (well as good a flourish as he could manage with his elbow still aching) America adjusted his fedora and stepped towards the bear.

"Hey little guy, you're not going to do anything evil to us are you?"

The bear cocked its head and America really, _truly_, hoped that it was out of curiosity and not because it was plotting his demise.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

[Notes]  
1) Jackson Pollock was an influential American painter and a major figure in the abstract expressionist movement.  
2) The Tate Modern in London is Britain's national museum of international modern art. It is home to Pollock's _Summertime Number 9A_.


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: Sorry again for the wait! I am grateful to the few of you who leave comments for me here. It means a lot to me and keeps me going! Thanks!

* * *

The bear before them by no means looked evil or worrisome or anything like that at all. But America wasn't about to take any risks, given their luck so far.

"It's an Andean Bear, England," he remarked, sounding a bit excited. "Aren't you, little guy?"

England crept up behind America and put a hand on his shoulder. "While I won't deny his species, I must say he is far from _little_, America."

The light pressure on his shoulder didn't detour America from his query, and he slowly edged forward closer to the bear, babbling as he did so.

"Well I mean in comparison to other bears, he's small. Most of them are so much bigger and I think this guy's full grown. Oh and this is only type of bear in South America too!"

He gave an uneasy laugh on realizing he was babbling because he nervous.

"Hey Mr. Bear, what's up?"

At that, the bear took a few steps forward and locked eyes with America. The younger nation could feel England tensing up behind him, but as soon as he looked into the bear's eyes, America knew everything would be just fine.

"He's a friend England, chill out."

England balked. "Oh yes, let's just sit down and have a nice cup of tea and some scones. America, it's a bloody bear, it's not your friend."

With a sigh, America shifted his hat on his head and took another step forward. "Don't listen to him, Mr. Bear. He's just a bit skittish around your type."

The bear gave a grunt at that and England crossed his arms. "What pray tell is that supposed to mean?"

America blinked. "Huh? Did you mean me or Mr. Bear?"

England glared, clearly thinking them both mad. "Are you actually talking to it?"

"See. He talks to imaginary friends all the time and when I try and strike up a conversation with a _real_ forest creature, he gets upset."

The bear gave a low growl that sounded like it was agreeing with America.

"But really, he's a great guy. It's just he's not been around wild bears since he was really little so he doesn't exactly take kindly to them. So if you'd just…"

"America," England cut in. "What is going on?"

Acting like it was nothing out of the ordinary to be chatting with a bear, America just shrugged. "Mr. Bear says we really need to get out of this pathway or we're going to get hurt."

"By him?"

Turning back to the bear, as if to clarify something, America nodded his head in understanding as the bear gave a growl followed by a whine.

"England, what's been bothering you since we landed?" America asked, suddenly looking very serious.

England just stared. "…Why?"

"Because you aren't the only one who's been getting a bad feeling from the mountain this afternoon."

Green eyes went wide and England looked around as if he could see something approaching. America, sensing that this statement had rattled England more than he cared to let on, stepped back over to his side and wrapped his good arm loosely around him.

"Hey, it's okay. We knew we might be facing this, what with that creepy writing warning right?"

England nodded. "But if the animals are sensing it too, then perhaps…"

America started as a distant rumble caught his ears.

"America, it might be far worse than I anticipated."

With a dashing (well, at least he thought it was pretty dashing) grin, America pressed a quick kiss to England's forehead and deposited his fedora onto England's head.

"Well, don't you worry for right now, because Alfred F. Jones is on the case!"

Still looking skeptical, England glanced over to the bear (who had seated himself and began to lick his paws) then back to America.

"I don't think you understand what we're dealing with, America…"

America shook his head. "Right now I'm going to assume it's a really nasty Apu using his mountain spirit-y powers to try and scare us off from his turf. But even if it's _not_ that, I do understand that whatever it is has you scared so much you've been fretting up a storm. And since I know you don't scare this way that easily, well..." He shrugged, "I think I know that we're in for a hell of a problem, whatever it is. But at least we're in it together."

England gave a small smile. "You've come to know me pretty well, haven't you?"

"Once you peel back all the prickly, stodgy layers there is a whole different England just waiting to be discovered underneath," America teased.

That got England to chuckle lightly, and both of them felt a bit more at ease now that they were facing this mystery head-on, together.

"Oh and Mr. Bear says we can hide out in his tree bed for the night if we want a safe place," America said, matter of factly a moment later.

England gave a sigh. "Is this going to be like your rabbit friend when you were little?"

America gave England a look. "Mr. Bunny's feelings really were hurt when you wouldn't let him stay with me in my bedroom…"

"But…I just…why are we supposed to trust…_that_?" he asked, pointing at the bear.

The bear and America both let out a huff, and exchanged a look that was easily read even by England as one of exasperation.

"He talks to unicorns and when I happen to listen to the wilderness, he just doesn't believe me," America remarked to no one in particular.

At that, the bear stood up and began to climb up into the nearest tree, looking down every few branches as if to say "follow me, please!"

America fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, then injured elbow, back and all, began trying to climb up the tree after the bear.

"You are just going to injure yourself further, you git!"

But America wouldn't listen and was, despite his struggles to climb with the pain shooting through his elbow, following the bear as quickly as he could manage. Once he made it up to the first sturdy branch, he called down to England.

"Hey, toss up my whip!"

England grumbled something under his breath that America swore was something about "pointless to argue with idiots" before snatching up the whip from America's bag and tossing it upwards. It took a few tosses, but finally America's fingers clasped the handle of the whip and he grinned.

"All right, let's get our belongings up here first."

England pointedly ignored America as he hauled up his bag via whip, going to his own bag and pulling on his shirt. He was just about to ask if America wanted his ridiculous hat as well when he felt the cold chill run down his spine. The fedora tumbled out of his hand and onto the ground.

In the tree above, America's eyes had gone wide in horror as their Andean bear friend began to keen out a low, distraught cry.

"England, something's coming, get up here now!"

But as much as America's words and even the bear's cries made England want to bolt up into the tree, he found he was frozen to the spot as if some invisible force was holding him there.

With all the strength he could muster, he met America's eyes and said.

"America, I…I can't move."

* * *

Poland was in full swing at America's house, insisting that everyone needed a full makeover and home spa treatment before he'd be caught dead on the streets of New York. Lithuania wasn't quite sure about this, but Tony was more than happy to assist Poland in giving Lithuania a hot oil massage.

Whale was currently singing to himself in the indoor pool he lived in during the cold winter months in D.C., which had been turned into a lavender-scented bubble bath courtesy Poland.

"Like guys, I totally got the avocado facials ready and stuff!"

Lithuania looked skeptically over to Tony who was lounging beside him in one of the pool side chairs. "Uh Tony, is this okay with you?"

The alien nodded, taking off his sunglasses and setting them aside. "I just need to check one fucking thing first."

Stepping outside the room, Tony crossed the house until he went to the bookcase. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching him, he stood on the balls of his feet and tugged on a battered old copy of Journey to the Center of the Earth. The book slid out and a _click_ echoed in the empty room. Quietly, Tony pulled open the secret doorway and descended the staircase into what served as both America's secret room and, to a degree, Tony's workshop.

Passing various artifacts, Tony crossed over to a large wall-sized computer that was lit up with what looked like an old Mac computer game on it in big blocky pixel graphics. He frowned as he noticed a nearby monitor beeping and flickering its red light.

"Fucking hell, what now?"

Picking up an old Nintendo Game controller he'd modified into use for his hardware, Tony punched in a quick succession of A-B keys until the computer pulled up a secret file, showing all the statistics on one Alfred F. Jones, aka. America.

The alien's frown turned into an expression of great alarm when he saw just how much his human's heart rate was racing.

"No pleasure neurons in the brain are lit up and his adrenaline is fucking skyrocketing," he muttered to himself, punching in a few more keys. This screen pulled up the blocky pixel graphics again, but this time with two white silhouettes lightly etched in.

For a brief moment, Tony thought how proud his people back on the home planet would be if they could see his advanced technological skills in such a primitive world as Earth. Using a mere human cell phone device to track all health stats for America was not what Tony had originally asked for his phone for, but it had come to him as he was installing that other program.

His three hearts clenched in concern. Tony really didn't _want_ to be invasive at all, but after seeing America's neck almost cut open after the last adventure along with _that_ writing England had conjured up, the alien was quite honestly, worried sick.

While he would never, ever, admit it (he'd rather eat England's cooking than do so) Tony knew that if England couldn't protect America during their adventure, then it was possible his dear human would come to even greater injury.

And if England was so worried about this…_writing_.

Tony shook his head and glanced back at the monitor, which was beeping even more rapidly now.

Something had caused America great distress, but all his own personal vitals were still well in the green. This meant the cause could be nothing else but…

Tony glared at the second white silhouette as if he could see _him_ in person.

"Fucking limey," he swore.

Of course America's heart was racing because England was in danger. Tony could have figured that out without his technology to confirm it. It was a common trait in most life forms after all, to value the life of your mate above one's own.

"Fucking _fucking_ limey."

And although he swore, and cursed, and even did so in a few foreign alien tongues outside his own, Tony did the one thing he could to help his America.

He began punching in satellite override coding so he could use his powers to save England's life.

* * *

England felt as if a giant hand had gripped him firm around the middle.

His arms held flush against his sides and his feet unable to move nary a centimeter without being held back by some unseen adversary.

England looked intently at the air around him and wasn't surprised in the least bit to see that there was that slight glow of magic to it. It was as he had feared ever since America had been able to use the radio and he had not.

Whatever this foe was, be it a vengeful mountain spirit or ancient magic curse, it had singled out England. Sensing the old magic about him, it had decided to eliminate him first and foremost before moving onto easier prey, such as America and his lack of magical sight.

"England, hang on! I'll get you!" America called out from the branch above.

But that foreboding feeling got worse, as if the air had tightened around his lungs, and England gasped. "No, not yet! I must break it first."

If America was perplexed by England's strange statement, the extreme worry and concern on his face did well to mask his confusion. But the last thing England wanted was for America to make some foolhardy strike and draw the ire of the curse towards him. It was best to let magic fight magic first before any dashing American heroics came into play.

Not that America was dashing, not in the least.

Closing his eyes, England let his aura search out around him, looking for any weaknesses in the curse keeping him frozen. As if it was indeed a large hand, a few small gaps, as if in between large fingers, in the magic remained at intervals every meter or so apart.

England allowed himself a small smile at that. This foe had underestimated him greatly.

Inwardly envisioning the curse surrounding him, England began to chant, tendrils of purple smoke beginning to swirl out around him.

_That which is frozen shall now flow yet again. That which is bound shall be as free as the wind. Untangle your entanglements, unhinge your locked doors, and let loose that you hold which is not yours._

The smoke hissed emerald as it canceled out the freezing spell, clouds of green so large that even America couldn't deny that _something_ had been holding England there.

"England!" He called out once more, warily looking off towards the distance. His bear friend was doing the same, and both of them seemed to be mixture of relieved and yet still extremely worried.

Wasting not a second, England snatched up his bag and rushed to the bottom of the tree. "Get this up, quickly now!"

He wasn't sure what was headed their direction that was making such a loud rumbling noise, but England knew that whatever was out to get him had all intents of him standing in that spot until the source of the rumbling arrived to do him in.

In no time at all, America had used his whip to haul up the second bag. Looking to England, he gave him a nervous smile.

"Are you going to magic yourself up here or can I help?"

Sensing America's insecurity about being inadequate protection against this invisible curse, and figuring he still owed him for taking the brunt of the fall on his back, England sighed, a smidgen of a smile hidden just beneath his frown.

"All right then, America, hero away."

America lit up like a child on Christmas morning, and eyeing the next branch higher than the one he was perched on, he gave a swift flick of his whip and tugged it secure on that branch.

Immediately, England knew what he was up to and he barely had time to grab up America's hat before the idiot began his swing downward.

As if he was some Hollywood action hero (which was clearly what the git was aiming for), America swung down from the tree holding to his whip with his good hand, his shirt billowing in the breeze and a toothpaste-commercial white smile on his face. On reaching England, he swept him up dramatically in his right arm (wincing as his injured elbow twinged in pain) and gave him a grin. "One hero, at your service, darling."

Before England could berate him, or even manage a scowl, the rumbling drew to a cacophonous peak as a large boulder came barreling into the clearing.

Not about to let America get any more injured, England twisted as they swung upward to block him from the incoming hit.

But the boulder never came.

Mere inches from where they'd been, a large blue glow had shot down from the sky and brought the boulder to an instant halt.

America gave England a look as they swung safely up into the branches. "Was that blue glow you?"

England shook his head, looking to where the boulder was sitting at a standstill.

"No. But whatever it is, it's on our side so I'm not complaining."

Hearing America hiss in pain as he wracked his elbow against the tree trunk beside them, England swatted his hands off his waist. "All right Tarzan, I can take it from here."

But before he could get loose from America's grip, their bear friend (well, England supposed he could consider it a friend) let out another whine.

If the rumbling from before was loud, this noise was ten times so, as a huge rockslide of boulders came crashing into the clearing. The blue light that had saved them before seemed to know they were safe up the tree, for it did nothing to hinder the onslaught of boulders as they slammed into the first boulder and covered the entire forest floor of the area in debris.

"England…" America murmured.

England gulped and pressed a reassuring kiss to America's cheek. "Hush love, I'm quite all right."

"But, you could have been…"

"Shh, we're safe now. Both of us are safe and well," England chuckled, glancing up to where the dark fur of the bear peeked out amidst the foliage of the tree. "Looks like our friend Mr. Bear is safe as well."

America's grin resurfaced at that. "Hey, you called him Mr. Bear!"

"You always were so eloquent with names. I still can't believe your whale is named…Whale."

With a pout, America started to clamber up in the tree to a more spacious branch. "It's not my fault that's the name he responded to. I was going to name him something more awesome like…"

"Mr. Whale?" England teased, following America up into the higher branches of the tree.

"NO!"

But his deep blush made England suspect that perhaps that had been the intended name after all.

After climbing up a bit higher, and carefully bringing their bags with them, America reached a roomy part of the bough where several branches and leaves had been pulled and bent down against the trunk to form a sort of…platform or nest or bed.

"Ta-da! Mr. Bear said he could loan us his extra bed for the night."

England blinked at it, then at America, then to the bear (which was up even higher in the treat watching over them). He could have _sworn_ the bear was smiling at him, but that would be downright ridiculous.

Tossing his bag up into the nest, England raised an eyebrow as it didn't fall through immediately. "Rather sturdy construction."

America snatched his fedora back off England's head, and tucked it and his whip safely to the side of the large bear-made platform with his bag.

"Home sweet home," he quipped.

England sat down and found that it was rather comfortable, for a leaf and branch bed, that is. America was looking around at the landscape from their high perch above the forest, the sunset just barely eking through the dense tree leaves to catch on the metal of his eyeglass frames from time to time.

"You sir," England began, tugging America back against him so he could rest his still-ice packed back against his chest, "are overdue for a good rest."

America smiled warmly, letting himself relax into the circle of England's arms. "I guess I am."

They sat in silence, outside the quiet snufflings of their bear friend up above them, just the two of them curled up together in the branches of the tree watching the tiny streaks of sunset dwindle as the dark night skies descended over the forest.

England had pulled out a lantern and turned it on a dim setting, letting America cradle against his chest so his heavily bruised back didn't get any worse for the wear by sleeping at any odd angles against a tree trunk. That, England thought to himself as he shifted his own back against the tree trunk, was his duty for the night.

"Hey England?"

"Hmm?"

America shifted slightly so he could see England's face illuminated in the lantern light. "Do you really have no idea what that blue light was that saved us?"

He shook his head. "No idea. It wasn't like any magic I'm familiar with. I'm just…"

"…glad it stopped that boulder from hitting you," they said simultaneously.

They both blushed a bit at that, but small, timid smiles quirked at their lips all the same.

Little did they know that thousands of miles away from them, their alien savior was sitting back down to let an eccentric blond nation finish up his facial.

* * *

Notes:  
[1] The Andean Bear is a relatively small species of bear native to South America. It has black fur with a distinctive beige-coloured marking across its face and upper chest.  
[2] Bears became extinct in the United Kingdom in the 10th century after years of habitat destruction and persecution by hunters.  
[3] In the religion and mythology of Peru, Ecuador, and Bolivia, Apus are the spirits of the mountains that protect the local people in the highlands. The term dates back to the Inca Empire.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes:** Thank you to those of you who comment! I'm trying to get better about updating this, so here goes:

* * *

England was woken up by America shifting in his arms and a loud rumbling noise. Being as the two happened almost simultaneously, he quickly surmised that America must be hungry.

Sure enough, he felt America gently extricating himself from his hold and going over to rummage through their bags. Just about to crack an eye open and give America a light-hearted taunt about midnight snacks, England started as he suddenly felt America's weight over him and a warm hand brushing over the nape of his neck.

"A-America?" He queried, blearily opening his eyes.

He was met with a worried set of blue eyes, as America leaned in closer. Stroking the side of England's face with his thumb, he pressed a kiss to England's temple before speaking.

"Hey. Don't want to alarm you but…"

That loud rumble sounded again and this time England realized it wasn't America's stomach.

A horrid thought struck England and he quickly reached up to place his hand on America's neck. Sure enough, much like his own, America's hairs there were standing on end.

"Electrical storm," England rasped out, as if he could suddenly distinguish the approaching noises as thunder and rain.

The world seemed to come into sharp focus at that and he was suddenly awake with every fiber of his being. His hairs were on edge, as were America's, there was a high-pitched crackling just under the din of the rumbling, and…he gulped.

Just visible around the edges of America's glasses was an unearthly glow of blue. A glow England was far too familiar with from his seafaring days.

Snatching the glasses off, England's mind hastily went to work.

"St. Elmo's fire on the tips of your glasses, we haven't much time. We've got to get out of this tree; we're in great danger here."

America nodded, but as he moved to grab up their bags and his whip, England couldn't help but see just how stiffly the younger nation carried himself.

"No worries, England! We'll just swing down and make a run for it," he remarked as if nothing was wrong.

But England knew him far too well to believe otherwise.  
"You will be doing no such thing, idiot," England reprimanded, shifting in their leafy bed to pry the whip from America's hands. "Your back is bloody killing you right now…"

"No it's…"

"No point arguing," England hushed him with a finger to his lips. "I can see how awkwardly you move. Let me handle this one."

With a sigh, America relented the hold on his whip. "I guess…" Picking up his hat he plopped it down on England's head. "Let's see what you can do, Stodgiana Kirkland."

England's retort was cut off as a very loud clap of thunder sounded right above them.

"Right. Let's get going then."

They decided amongst themselves that lowering down their bags and then picking them up at the base of the tree once they were down would be the best idea. America began clamoring at that point, as loudly as he could over the torrential rain and thunder that they had to help Mr. Bear as well.

Needless to say, England was not amused.

"These sorts of storms are common here, America. I'm sure your bear friend can take care of himself."

America pouted and looked up into the tree branches to where Mr. Bear was peering down at them.

"He looks worried, England."

England sighed, "He's probably as worried as I am that you're going to get yourself hurt insisting on helping a creature capable of helping himself."

The bear gave a low grunt at that, and America looked even more concerned.

"Are you sure?"

At that, the bear nudged a bundle of vines down to America. He blinked, but took it and handed it to England.

"To keep you safe, he said."

About to ask how a bloody bundle of plants was going to help any, England froze on realizing that it wasn't vines that he'd been handed. It was a collection of colored cords with intricately spaced knots. A khipu. The only form of known Incan "writing" to exist.

He narrowed his eyes on the bear.

"Who are you?" He asked.

But the bear just gave out a low keening whine and America pulled England away. "Come on England, we've got to get out of this tree."

And as much as England wanted, no _needed_, to know more about this strange sign, he knew America was right. The longer they stayed in the tree, the greater their risk of being struck by lightning.

The rain had picked up and the thunder was growing closer by the moment. As England prepared the whip to swing them down from the tree, he could hear America counting out seconds behind him.

A flash of lightning. "One, two, three, four, five." A clash of thunder.

"Divide by five, it's only a mile away now, England."

"I know, I know."

He let the whip go, watching in the flash of lightning as it coiled around the lower branch. He pulled it snug.

"Right," England turned to America, "hold on to me, love."

Tucking his glasses into his pocket, America wrapped his arms snuggly around England from behind. He kissed the shell of his ear and whispered to him, "Ready and waiting."

Clutching onto the whip and just about to drop, England heard the crackling in the air heighten and the hairs on his arms prickled to stand up on end. The deluge of rain was starting to permeate the dense canopy of the forest, cold water splashing against them.

But worst of all, England got this horrid feeling in his gut that perhaps this wasn't a routine electrical storm after all.

England swung them downward right as a deafening crash of thunder sounded overhead. Blue crackles of lighting skipping between clouds and racing towards their tree with excessive speed and, England noted out of his peripheral vision, exact precision that normal lightning would never have.

As they hit the ground, he quickly picked up his bag and handed the other to America.

"It's after us," he gasped out, heart hammering in his chest. "We've got to run!"

Another roar of thunder clapped overhead, and England started pulling America along with him, trying to distance themselves from the tree.

But, to his horror, America let his hand go and turned back.

"America, don't! This isn't a normal rainstorm!" He yelled, voice hoarse, through the downpour.

But through the gloom of the night and the storm, even England could make out that glint in America's eyes he got when he was damned and determined to go do something heroically idiotic.

"Yeah, I know. You're freaking out real bad," America said, a wan smile on his lips. "But that means Mr. Bear might be in trouble after all."

Pushing his rain soaked bangs out of his eyes; America dropped his bag and began to run back towards the tree.

"America!" England called out, but it was too late.

Above them, the clouds shone blue for a moment before an earsplitting thunderclap shook the whole area, a surge of lightning heading directly for the patch of trees they'd been in.

Squinting against the rain, England could make out America's form and was just about to make a run for him when he saw a large black blur descending from the tree.

It was the bear.

With an aura about the creature that England swore was magical; the bear hit the ground beside America and quickly urged him away from the tree. And they would have made it to safety, if it wasn't then that the lightning struck.

The tree erupted outward, as if someone had embedded a large bundle of fireworks inside the tree's trunk and lit it. The crack of the wood echoed throughout the clearing like a gunshot and the shards of the exploded tree flew like shrapnel outwards.

One of which, was headed straight for England.

"England, get down!" America called out, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him and knocking England to the ground.

He then turned to the bear, and on seeing that the animal was in the path of yet another piece, he jumped up to cover him.

They both went down, the bear safely protected by America, that git of a hero, as he took the blow for him.

England rushed over, the fact that the lightning was systematically destroying the two neighboring trees to the one they'd just been sleeping in but a mere background thought as he reached America's side.

"America, America," England shook him but he merely groaned in pain.

Feeling around the back of his head, England felt a large bump and a bit of stickiness. He swallowed. It was blood.

Looking helplessly to their two waylaid bags, America's blasted hat that had fallen on the ground from when England had ran forward, and to America's prone form, England took a deep breath.

He needed to get America to safety, first and foremost. The rest could wait.

Crouching down, he gathered America up into his arms. The poor dear had been thoroughly abused due to his insistence on heroics, back all bruised and now unconscious with a _literally_ bloody head injury.

That's when England noticed he wasn't the only one gathering up the fallen.

The bear had gotten up and after giving what England honestly had to admit was a rather concerned look to America, began to nestle himself under one of their packs as if he was trying to lift it up. Finally, the bear managed it and he went over and did the same to America's fallen hat.

With the pack on his back and the hat on his head, England had to admit the bear looked right friendly. In fact, a twinge of a smile tugged at his lips despite his worry.

"Just like Paddington, aren't you?"

The bear grunted and nosed his head under America's limp arm.

"Right, you want to help him, don't you?"

The bear nodded, the hat flapping a bit on his head as it did so. He gave America's cheek a lick and England's hand where it rested protectively on America's back, a nuzzle.

"We need some place safe; safe enough that whatever this magic is that is following us can't hurt us."

And after walking over to lift up the second pack to carry, the bear started walking off at a steady pace towards the nearest mountain. England pulled America up into his arms, carrying him bridal style, as he trudged through the rain-soaked landscape after the bear.

A bear in a hat, carrying the two packs with ease.

Matching the bear's pace, England queried.

"You don't happen to come from deepest darkest Peru, do you?"

And for some reason, the twinkle in the bear's eyes seemed to let England know that the answer was 'yes.'

* * *

America woke up to the sound of someone singing softly, or at least he thought it was singing. In fact, he was actually very disoriented. He was lying on a smooth surface on his stomach, and outside ice packs placed on his back and head, he could tell he'd been bundled up as if someone was afraid he'd catch cold.

Then there were the gentle fingers threading through his hair as a familiar voice sang.

_giefan unc hlēo. hālian his sār. l__ǣ__tan unc ādrēogan hāl. giefan unc hlēo. hālian his sār. l__ǣ__tan unc ādrēogan hāl._

Groggily, he cracked open his eyes.

America could see a slight glow of purple in the air and realized England was casting a spell over him, his head resting in England's lap as he sang the enchantment.

They were in a dimly lit (courtesy of their lantern) cave mouth that was on the side of one the mountains in the area. He was, as he suspected, covered in several blankets and lying on his sleeping bag. As he moved his head slightly to try and see the rest, England stopped singing.

"You've had us both worried sick, I'll have you know!" He snapped, but with a certain fondness to it.

America blinked. "Both? Did Tony call?"

England huffed. "No. I meant Pastuso. He insisted on draping that khipu over you the moment we got settled here."

At that, America saw a blur of black move out of his peripheral vision and within seconds a large bear tongue was lolling against his cheek. "Mr. Bear, you're okay!"

"Thanks to someone's ridiculously over-the-top heroics, yes," England retorted.

America slowly pulled one of his arms free from the blankets. Shivering, he stuck it out into the cool air, and he patted the bear on his head. The bear let out a pleased whine and nuzzled into his touch.

"Who's Pastuso?"

"The bear, of course. Named him after Paddington's Peruvian name."

At first, America was momentarily affronted that England was trying to rename Mr. Bear. But then he realized something else.

"You made friends with Mr. Bear!"

England coughed. "Yes, well. Kind of have to trust the beastie after he helped us out so much to safety. That was a right nasty storm and it was targeting us specifically."

America gave Mr. Bear one last pat before reaching out and clasping one of England's hands. He gave it a squeeze.

"Thanks, England."

"Well if you hadn't been so stupid and…and…"

America grinned. "Yeah, but I've always got you to look out for me when I do get hurt. So it's all good in the end."

England blushed. "Git."

"So where are we? Can I move or is there some like full body-bind curse on me or something?"

The sound of rustling paper reached America's ears and he could slightly see England pulling a map around to where he could almost fully see it.

"After looking at Guzman's map, and some of Blake and Chapman's notes, I think we're somewhere in these cliff faces. As for your current state, you are free to move but I would not advise you to do so."

America pulled his other arm free at that and crossed them to rest in England's lap, pillowing his head atop them.

"You going to take care of me, Doctor Kirkland?" He gave him a teasing grin as he asked this.

England huffed, but he readjusted the ice pack on America's head as he replied, "Someone has got to and since I'm the only one around, I suppose it will have to be me."

"Good, because _damn_ my head hurts."

Green eyes widened at that, but England still tried to sound nonchalant. "Getting hit with a piece of an exploding tree because one has to be the hero would do that."

"A hero does not consider his own personal safety when the safety of others is in danger," America said resolutely.

England sighed, "What am I going to do with you?"

"Well," he raised an eyebrow, "I could use a kiss to make it better."

If England was off-put by America's corny line, he didn't let it show; which, America considered, was rather thoughtful for England. Instead, he just gently leaned down until the space between them was small enough that America could lean up to close it.

He kissed him soundly and as he pulled back, he nuzzled his nose against England's. A nose that, by America's standards, was far too cold.

"Are you cold? Why aren't you under a blanket?"

England glanced away and America knew the answer immediately.

"Oh sure, lecture me about stupid heroics and then you're over here freezing because you had to be chivalrous and give me your blanket."

"Y-You were hurt!" He lamely protested.

America, ignoring how much it hurt his muscles to do so, sat up just enough that he could yank England into his cocoon of blankets with him. Pillowing his head back on his arms, he let England finish spluttering out his indignities before saying, "See, much better."

England shook his head. "Always the hero, aren't you? Even when you're hurt."

America shrugged. "A hero does not consider his own personal comfort when the comfort of certain stodgy Englishmen is compromised."

At that, England buried his face into America's shoulder. "Git. Idiot. Tosser. Twat. Imbecile."

America pressed a kiss to England's forehead and put the icepack back on his throbbing head.

"Love ya too, England."

Outside the cave mouth, the rain was still falling with unending ferocity, but they were protected from the elements here. As they settled down to sleep, Mr. Bear curled up beside them and yawned.

And with his bear friend beside him and England's hand clasped in his, America thought that despite how much he hurt, at least he was safe. Thanks to both of them, he knew he could sleep without any worries at all.

* * *

[Notes]  
[1] St. Elmo's fire is an electrical weather phenomenon in which a bright blue or violet glow, appearing like fire in some circumstances, from tall, sharply pointed structures such as lightning rods, masts, spires and chimneys, and on aircraft wings. St. Elmo's fire can also appear on leaves, grass, and even at the tips of cattle horns. Often accompanying the glow is a distinct hissing or buzzing sound.

[2] The Inca Empire (1438–1533) had its own spoken language, Quechua, which is still spoken by about a third of the Peruvian population. It is believed that the only "written" language of the Inca empire is a system of different knots tied in ropes attached to a longer cord. This system is called quipu or khipu.

[3] Paddington Bear. The polite immigrant bear from Darkest Peru, with his old hat, battered suitcase, duffle coat and love of marmalade sandwiches has become a classic character from English children's literature. Paddington's Peruvian name is ultimately revealed to be "Pastuso."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes:** Sorry for the massive delay between chapters! As always, thank you for your comments to this story. They mean the world to me, each and every one. :)

* * *

His current predicament was, needless to say, something he should be thrilled over. But instead of his three hearts swelling with joy and excitement, Tony couldn't help but find himself unable to sleep.

Nothing, even the fact that he was currently curled up in bed with Lithuania (and Poland), the kind nation even going so far as to share half of his pillow with the alien, could keep Tony from worrying about America.

With a sigh, he reluctantly slid out from under the covers and adjusted his sleep cap. It was two in the fucking morning and he was heartsick with worry and would be until he knew America was safe.

Padding downstairs, Tony quietly opened the bookcase to the secret room below. As he reached his workstation, he quickly keyed up the stats on America.

"Seems he's sleeping well, at least," Tony murmured to himself.

But as his eyes flickered to the sidebar of information, he felt his second heart lurch yet again. Somehow, even after he'd stopped that boulder from harming the fucking limey, America had played the hero and gotten hurt.

The evidence was clear in the amount of white blood cells that had swarmed to a new injury on the back of America's head. Pulling up a digitalized image of it, Tony pressed his small grey hand to the screen.

And as much as he wanted to blame England, Tony knew that it was America's own goodness and heroism that probably caused this.

"Fucking limey," he muttered anyway, just because it made him feel a slight bit better.

Switching screens to what would look like a very high-tech email system to anyone else, Tony's eyes widened as he saw the response sitting in his inbox.

He'd only sent the query to his home planet's information repository to give himself some piece of mind that he was doing _something_, but he'd never thought they would give him a reply.

Opening up the message, Tony's three hearts came to a momentary halt as he read what the greatest minds of his planet had to make of the strange writing England had conjured up out of the map.

_Greetings,_

_The information provided pulled up three possible meanings._

_First: Old Earth culture language for "Our land, please get off it!"  
Second: Earthian Spirit World language. Our rough translation computers are giving us two possible translations. First meaning is a warning of sorts, advising no intruders to bother them. Second meaning is "Our coconuts are filled with rainbows, beware them!"_

_Third: There are similarities in it to the language of the Sabellas. Can any evidence of their written language be found to verify?_

It was the last of these that Tony was most concerned with. The first two sounded nasty enough, and quite possible given the nature of the Earthian spirit realm and the way certain nature spirits disliked visitors. But the last one…

Tony shook his head. Why would it be that? The first two were logically and statistically more likely than the other by far. He had no reason to worry.

But still…

Selecting the attached image from his planet's information repository of Sabellas' writing, Tony formatted a quick message.

_America,_

_You need to stay fucking safe! If you see anything that looks like this, call me right away!_

_Very fucking worried about you, Tony._

Knowing he wouldn't sleep until he got a reply, Tony closed down his computer system and went back upstairs. As he entered the living room, thinking of pulling out a video game to try and keep his mind off things, Lithuania's voice called out.

"Tony? Tony, where are you?"

"In here, Liet!" He called back.

A few moments later, Lithuania came around the doorway, his worried smile easing a bit as he saw the small grey alien seated on the couch.

"There you are; I was really worried about you. Is everything okay?"

He sat down beside Tony, and between his concerned expression and sweet smile, Tony couldn't help but cave in.

Wrapping his short arms around Lithuania's side, he mumbled, "Fucking worried about America."

Lithuania chuckled at that, giving Tony a light pat on his back. "I'm sure he'll be okay. He's a tough guy, after all. Is that why you can't sleep?"

Tony nodded.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm worried about him too."

Tony's eyes widened. "Really?"

Lithuania nodded. "Really. That's what good friends do when their friends are off on dangerous adventures. Worry."

Adjusting the blanket from the side of the couch over his and Tony's laps, Lithuania leaned back against the couch.

"But America's been through a lot for someone as young as he is and he's still okay. Plus, England won't let him come to any harm. You know how much they look out for each other."

"Fucking better not let America get hurt," he swore.

"How about I keep you company down here, and you can call America in the morning to see if he's doing all right? The time zones between here and there aren't that different, so mid-morning here wouldn't be too early for him."

Tony frowned, then nodded. "Don't want you to lose sleep, Liet."

Lithuania smiled, giving Tony a fond pat on the head. "And I don't want you to lose sleep either, so…"

"Like oh my god you two, if we're totally having a slumber party you're doing it all wrong!" Poland's bubbly voice cut in.

Before either of them could say a word, the blonde had scooped them both up in his arms. "Let's like get some more blankets and stuff, and like we can totally sleep by the fireplace and it'll be super romantic!"

Dangling over Poland's right shoulder, Lithuania smiled over at Tony where he was being held over Poland's left shoulder.

After a moment, Tony cracked a small smile too. America had understood how worried and lonely his alien friend was going to be, so he'd left him with the second best company he could ask for.

"Fucking _High School Musical_ dvd is over there!" Tony suggested; much to Poland's delight.

"That is like so totally perfect, Tony! Liet, we can like do the sing-along version even!"

Lithuania just shook his head. "I'm not very good at that, Poland."

"You can fucking sing, Liet," Tony replied.

"Yeah, listen to the adorable alien! You have a great singing voice."

And as they were deposited by the big screen and Poland went off to get blankets and popcorn, Tony reached over and gave Lithuania's hand a squeeze.

"Thank you for your companionship while America is away."

Lithuania smiled and patted Tony's hand in return.

"You're welcome, Tony. Looks like Poland's going to keep you from too much worry tonight, but you can call America tomorrow. I'm sure he's fine."

And as Tony nodded in reply, he wished with all three of his hearts that what Lithuania said was true.

* * *

To say he was content would have been a vast understatement.

Okay, so his back was still bruised, his elbow was still swollen and he was pretty sure that he still had a bit of a bump on his head. But all of that didn't matter at the moment, because America was at complete and utter peace.

During the night, America had shifted, positioning himself more comfortably around the warmth that was England. Between the chill he'd gotten out in the rain and the cool interior of the cave, any warmth you could come by was precious.

But with a fond smile, America thought that _this_ warmth was even more so.

He was currently resting with his head on England's chest, right over his heart, and he was listening to the beating of it as it created some semblance of a melody with the snuffles of the sleeping bear and the constant pattering of the rain outside the cave.

And so, despite all his aches, America knew he couldn't be happier at that moment.

Tugging the pile of blankets up closer around himself and England, America pressed a lazy kiss to England's lips.

"You can be quite the hero sometimes, you know that England? I'm glad you're around to look out for me."

He pillowed his arms atop England's chest and just laid there, listening to his heartbeat and swearing England had smiled a bit in his sleep at what he'd said.

Shivering a bit as a gust of wind blew into the cave; America was just about to vainly attempt to tug the blankets closer. But two others had felt the gust as well and started awake.

"Bloody hell, that's a right chill," England groused under his breath.

Beside them, Mr. Bear stretched and yawned and gave a hard stare at the cave mouth.

America gave England a sleepy smile, "Sorry, I think I'm still really chilled or I'd offer to heroically warm you up."

England reached out and flicked America's stubborn lock of hair where it stood up on his head, "Git. Stop fussing over others when you're the one that needs the fussing. Now," he started gently sliding out from under America, "let's get our warmer pyjamas and a bit of a fire going."

Mr. Bear got up to pad over to where England was currently rummaging through the packs and he sleepily gave England's hand a nudge.

With a smile America wasn't about to let England live down, England gave the bear a pat on the head.

"Now now, Pastuso, I'll fix you a marmalade sandwich in the morn, how's that sound? Got to get America warm now, right?"

The bear gave a nod at that and America grinned. Okay, so it was totally _not cool_ that England was trying to rename Mr. Bear, but it was awesome that they were finally getting along.

After digging for awhile, England evicted a bundle of rolled clothing from the bottom of the bag.

"Feel like we took up all our packing space with warm clothes, blankets and food. But well, I suppose it'll come in handy. Let me get changed and I'll help you into yours."

America pouted and before he could say anything, England gave him a look.

"Oh come now, you've still got a welt on your head the size of a ping pong ball. You are taking it easy until you're healed up a bit, Mister."

At that, Mr. Bear crossed the cave floor and pointedly lay down with his paw overlapping America's arm so he couldn't get up.

"Thank you, Pastuso."

"Hey now! He was my forest friend first!" America retorted, looking over to the big eyes of his bear friend. "And his name is Mr. Bear."

"Well _Pastuso_, as your friend, is telling you that you should rest too. So it's two against one, so just sit tight until I can help you into something warmer."

America pouted, but relented. They right, both of them. He needed to take it easy and heal up some so he could be awesome and heroic later.

As England tugged out of his khaki gear he'd fallen asleep in, America couldn't help but appreciatively watch as the cloth slid against England's skin, the flicker of the lantern illuminating England in a way that made his heart race a little faster.

Mr. Bear made a grunt and pointedly covered his eyes with his paws. America sighed, "Hey now! He's my partner. I can look if I want!"

At that, England let out a splutter. "What in the blazes?" He turned, his pajama shirt half-on, and gave the two of them a look. At the bear's covered eyes and America's quirk of smirk, England flushed red.

"Git, stop staring! It's rude."

"Oh, so you get to help me into my pjs, but I can't look at you. Doesn't seem fair to me, Mr. Sexy-Stodge-in-Plaid."

He gave a wink at that, and England spluttered some more.

"L-Look away so I can put my slacks on. It's cold!"

"I've seen your butt before England, jeez."

England huffed at that, tugging his pajama shirt down a bit so it covered most of his behind as he tugged his matching plaid pajama slacks on.

Almost as red as the red stripes in the plaid, he glanced back over at America who was smiling at him fondly.

"You're adorable, you know that?"

"Oh shut it."

"Well, you _are_."

"Oi, hush up and let me get you into yours," England retorted, coming over with a bundle of bright colors in his arms. As he unfolded them, he sighed. "You brought these?"

"They're warm and flannel!" America replied.

England gave the pattern (which was various comic book sound effects in large flashy capslock lettering) a look before shaking his head.

"All right you big dork, let's get this on you."

Mr. Bear ended up excusing himself to go sit by the cave mouth while England gently pulled off America's khaki adventuring clothes, trying not to dislodge the bandages underneath as he did so. As he helped America slide the pajama top on, he paused a moment, wrapping America in a hug from behind.

"England?" He asked at the sudden embrace.

"Look America, I'm not quite sure what we've gotten ourselves into, but promise me one thing, all right?"

America nodded. "What?"

England let go at that, reaching up to turn America's face towards his as he pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. As he pulled back, he quietly said.

"Let me protect you too."

America felt his cheeks heat up at that, the intensity of England's stare coupled with his hand still protectively resting on America's neck.

"Okay," he said softly, leaning in to give England a quick kiss. "We can both be heroes, how's that sound?"

England chuckled lightly at that. "Much better. Now, let me finish getting you into something warm so you can rest."

"Right."

* * *

After England had bundled him into his pajamas, refluffed all their blankets and sleeping bags, and even cast a large magical green fire that gave out heat but didn't actually burn anything, he settled back down with America to sleep.

America had drifted off quite happily, now satisfactorily warm. Even Mr. Bear had come back towards them and lay close to America's side after resting the khipu up by his head.

So by the next morning, he was feeling much better. Sure, he still had some aches here and there, but a good night's rest had eased the pain some.

Just about to roll over and give England a kiss awake, he felt England's body jerk away from him.

"England?"

At first he suspected England had just moved quickly in his sleep, but by all appearances that wasn't the case.

"England!"

At the second cry, both England and Mr. Bear bolted awake.

England, who was now being dragged by some invisible force towards the mouth of the cave.

America tried to get up as quickly as possible, standing up and following after England where he was being dragged along the floor of the cave.

"America, it's a…" England tried to talk, but before he could finish, the invisible force had flipped him upside down by his leg, holding him dangling in mid-air.

"England!" America called out, rushing over towards him.

And that's when he felt it against his bare ankle, the cold, smooth feeling of _something_ slithering past him. America looked down, but as hard as he squinted, he couldn't see anything, not even a shadow.

But it was Mr. Bear's reaction that seemed to baffle America the most. Unlike their previous encounters with the magic of this region, this time the bear didn't seem too fussed about what was going on at all. He padded over next to America sleepily and gave him a friendly nudge in the leg as if to convey that there was nothing to worry about.

"England's in trouble, can't you see that?" America yelled in reply. Finally, not sure what else to do, he called out. "Show yourself, whatever you are!"

And much to his shock and surprise…it did.

Vivid green, with black blotches running the length of its long body and yellow-orange stripes down its narrow sides, a large green anaconda immediately materialized out of thin air.

It was holding up England by its tail, smelling him curiously with his tongue and seeming to look him over intently with his large eyes.

As America was slowly trying to wrap his mind around how such a large snake could make itself invisible, and honestly beginning to fear that it was magical rather than real, England finally managed to finish his statement.

"America, it's quite all right! At least, well, I think so."

"Yes, all is right," a deep rumbling of a voice spoke.

America balked on realizing it was none other than the _snake_ that had said it.

The anaconda flipped England around at that and as gently as the large snake could manage, sat him down standing up. Turning with piercing eyes towards Mr. Bear, the snake spoke again.

"Is this the magic I've been sensing?"

Mr. Bear grunted a reply and the snake _nodded_. Coiling itself in front of England, the snake bowed his head.

"It is not often in these years that those of my kind meet those with the power of sight into our realm," he said, extending his tail out as if a hand to shake. "I am Amarum. It was not my intent to give you such a rude awakening, but it has been very long since I have sensed magic of your caliber in these ranges and it gave me great concern for my fellow animals."

England, who actually didn't seem concerned in the least that he was talking to a giant snake, nodded. "You were near our tree before it exploded, weren't you?"

The snake smiled, inclining its head. "I see you sensed me as I sensed you."

Giving America a pointed look, England continued, "I have a bit of a way with fairies and other creatures of the mystical realms."

"Ah, that would explain why you could see me from the start."

America took a few steps forward at that and cleared his throat. "Hey, anyone want to explain to me why you're chatting with a giant snake that was invisible a few seconds ago or are you two just going to sit down for a cup of tea and leave me in the dark?"

England walked over to America at that and insistently yanked his arm over his shoulder, "Here, rest your weight on me. You probably pulled several muscles bolting out of bed like that."  
America frowned, but relented when England pecked a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Not that I don't appreciate your concern. I'm sure that to you, it looked very serious."

Taking a deep breath, England began to explain.

"Amarum is a nature spirit, which means I can see him normally, much like my fairies and unicorns. When you demanded that he 'show himself,' he drew back the mist that normally cloaks him from those without the sight."

America gave England a pout. "Oh man, does this mean I have to admit that your magical friends are real now?"

England chuckled. "I'm certain you'll do that when I admit your alien isn't half-bad to be around."

Mr. Bear had walked forward at that, and in some sort of unspoken language, seemed to be communicating with Amarum. Finally, Amarum nodded and turned his large head back towards America and England.

"I have been told of your quest and hopefully I can aid you some. For now, heed this advice. You must rest," Amarum said, pointing his tail at America, "You must put an enchantment on this cave to keep anyone from sensing you until he is healed," he pointed at England, "and you, my friend, must choose which side you are taking."

At that last part, he pointed to Mr. Bear and tossed a small metal plate towards the ground.

It clattered at their feet, and the bear's eyes seemed to widen at the inscription on it.

England picked it up and frowned, handing it over to America.

"Looks like some sort of writing, but I don't recognize it, do you?"

America shook his head. "No. But Mr. Bear doesn't seem too happy about it."

Sure enough, the bear seemed to be growling at the metal plate and when England tossed it to the ground, he grabbed it with his teeth and tossed it out of the cave.

Locking eyes with Amarum, the bear let out a low keening growl.

Amarum smiled. "You are wise, as always friend. Goodbye and keep safe."

And without another word, the snake started to slither away, turning invisible as he disappeared outside the cave.

* * *

Notes:  
[1] In the mythology of the Quechua people of Ecuador, Amarum is a spirit in the shape of a green anaconda.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes:** I hope to work on _Codename_ soon, but the next arc is taking a little longer to set up than I expected. As always, thank you for your comments to this story!

* * *

England understood the weight of Amarum's words immediately. If a nature spirit, and a powerful one at that, was instructing him to cast a spell over the cave, it was rather urgent that he do so.

America, on the other hand…

"Oooookay, clearly I need to rest because I must have smacked my head really hard to dream something nuts like this."

England glared. "Excuse me?"

"Don't worry your little stodgy head, I'm going back to bed right now. After a trippy dream like that, clearly I need to get some non-trippy REM sleep in."

"It wasn't a dream, America. That was a true spirit. You just can't normally _see_ them. But believe me, they are there!"

As America crawled back under the blankets and fluffed his pillow, he retorted, "Uh-huh. Sure thing, dreamland England. That's what you want me to believe so I'll wake up and go on and on about how cute your faeries and unicorns are. Nope, not buying it. No way, no how."

He huffed at that, pointing after the direction Amarum had disappeared in. "I can call him back, you know!"

"England, no _real_ snakes are that big. Seriously. Just because awesome movies like _Anaconda_ and _Snakes on a Plane_ have them, doesn't make them real. I know I'm just having a weird dream because I hit my head."

At this, England threw up his hands. "Oh bollocks! Fine, whatever! Continue to be blind, you git. See if I care!"

"Goodnight, dreamland England. I'll see your real stodgy self when I wake up."

And as America started to doze back off, England kicked a stone out of the cave mouth in frustration. How could America be such a blasted idiot when something like this was literally staring him right in the bloody face?

About to kick another stone, England stopped on feeling Pastuso nuzzling against his leg. Absently, he reached down and stroked behind the bear's ear.

"Amarum was real, wasn't he Pastuso?"

The bear nodded and England sighed.

"He talks to bears and whales and everything else, but give him a water spirit and oh no- must be dreaming!"

Pastuso licked his hand at then, then looked up, giving the cave opening they were standing in a hard stare before looking back to England.

"Right, of course. I need to cast that spell then."

He walked over to his backpack and dug around before pulling out an old, worn, leather pouch. Opening it up, he pulled out a tattered old spell book and a piece of chalk.

"Step back, if you could, Pastuso. Can't have any disruptions in the energies while I'm laying the compass round."

The bear padded back over to America and curled up behind his back, his keen eyes still intent on England. The nation gave the bear a slight smile, glad that at least someone (or well rather, some _bear_) didn't think him mad.

Kneeling on the ground near the cave mouth, England began to draw a circle in chalk on the cave floor. He worked counterclockwise, laying the lines until the large circle was complete.

Standing, he dusted off his hands and reached into his pouch. Pulling out a small handful of green powder, he began to walk clockwise inside the circle while chanting.

"Let us begin at the ending, start from where it is closed. Here lies below what also lies above," he paused and sprinkled a pinch of powder on the ground at the circle's northernmost edge, "It is different but it isn't different, fair is foul and the sun shines brightly at midnight," and then at its easternmost edge, "dreams are reality and reality is sleeping. The weight of the world is as easily lifted as feather, yet the feather bogs us down," and then at the southern edge, "The circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is no where. Let us stop now where we started and start what was already finished."

A large green cone grew up from the center of the circle at this, bringing a thickness to the air that enclosed England at all sides. As his hair and pyjamas billowed around him, he noticed America peeking out of his blankets, watching him.

He smiled at that. Bloody prat, he probably believed in Amarum deep down but was just being a brat about it. They could both be rather stubborn, after all.

Deciding that well, it _was_ necessary to cast a stronger protective spell on America anyway, England channeled the energies of the spell he'd cast. Feeling the tickling sensation of the magic flowing down his arm, he directed it towards America.

"Find and mend that which has been injured, shield and protect him from all the realms' harms." The purple magic coiled around America, who closed his eyes. Finally, he started giggling, and England smirked. If he was being tickled, the magic was working.

Directing the magic back towards himself and the entrance, England finalized it.

"For us all let it stand a fortification until withdrawn by my hand. Let the mist embrace us in her shroud and keep us secret for those we have not identified as friend. Geændung!"

And for the briefest of moments, a large blue-green dome extended around the mouth of the cave, before shimmering once and turning transparent.

England was just about to turn and call out America on his feint of sleep, when America's voice piped up.

"Um guys?"

Both England and Pastuso turned around.

America sheepishly grinned before holding up his cell phone. "I uh…got a text from Tony and, is it just me or does this writing sorta look familiar?"

The two crossed the cave at that, England stooping to seat himself beside America and Pastuso standing at his side. Both nation and bear's eyes went wide at the small pixelated image America showed them.

"It could just be a coincidence, but it looks rather like…" England looked over his shoulder towards the cave mouth.

"That metal plate," America finished.

The weight of that laid heavy enough on England's thoughts that he chose not to call out America on inadvertently admitting that Amarum had been there.

Pastuso had started growling again, and England warily asked what was nagging him the most.

"Is Tony spying on us?"

"England…"

"What? It's a valid question, being as he sends us that right after we see that metal plate."

America frowned. "Well, that _is_ a coincidence, because Tony sent this text the middle of last night. I'm just now reading it."

As the pure eeriness of that happenstance sunk in, England sighed.

"Right then. So your alien somehow texts us an image of ancient writing that just happens to match up with what we've just seen."

"He asked me to call him right away if I saw anything like it, but I bet he's sleeping in. Chances are he was up late watching _High School Musical_ with Poland and Lithuania."

"Watching _what_?"

America grinned. "It sorta happens when I leave those three alone together. But yeah, I don't want to wake him so I'll just text him back saying _maybe_. I mean," he ran a hand up through his hair, "we're all kinda tweaked out right now so perhaps we're just seeing things."

But even as he said this, both America and England looked to the bear who was looking most displeased yet again. Without another sound from the bear, he picked up the khipu, pressed it insistently into England's hands. He then swiftly ran out of the cave, the magic barrier rippling slightly as he exited.

America started to stand up, but England put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"He'll be all right. I'm sure of it. Right now it's more important that you heal up, okay?"

With a sigh, America relented. "Right. I'm sure Mr. Bear can take care of himself…"

"Precisely."

But as America started to text Tony back, even England had to admit that things were getting rather…worrisome.

* * *

England was brooding, which by America's standards was just _not_ acceptable. In fact, he thought no one should brood, except maybe Batman. Batman was the only one brooding really _worked_ for, after all.

For England, not so much.

And so, although freaky weird shit was totally going down, America knew it was his duty to keep England distracted as best as he could; which was good, because he knew that it'd distract him from his worries as well. So he'd gotten dressed, urged England to do the same, and insisted that since they were going to be stuck in this cave until he felt better- they might as well check it out.

England groused that America shouldn't be moving around too much with his head injury, but he really, honestly, felt only a _slight_ bit light headed.

"Plus, if I swoon and pass out, I'm sure you'll be there to catch me, right?"

That line alone, cheesy though it may be, got England to relent in an instant. So after they ate some breakfast (England insisting on leaving a marmalade sandwich out for Pastuso and America reminding him his name was _Mr. Bear_) they set off into the cave itself.

America, holding his lantern aloft, pointed out variants in the rock formations and excitedly rushed over to each and every new stalactite and stalagmite. England, bemused smile quirking at his lips, shook his head and followed after.

"Wow England, look at this one!"

This one, he could tell by the way England's eyes lit up, had impressed him; the limestone having flowed downward, looking like a five-level waterfall frozen into the rock.

Turning around and grinning, America exclaimed (voice echoing off the smaller cavern chamber), "You know, even after living so long stuff like this just totally blows me away each and every time. To think that dripping calcium carbonate can create something so _beautiful_, it's just…wow. Super awesome _wow_."

England walked up beside him at that and quietly took his hand. "The world has a way of amazing us again and again, I suppose. It's rather…magical."

America gave his hand a squeeze. "Yeah. It's just awesome like that."

Hand in hand, they continued onward; both having to duck their heads at times to pass through low ceiling areas, but never letting go. America grinned, thinking to himself that this was 'rather magical' as well.

But the cave's surprises didn't end there.

At first, America thought it was just a darker limestone formation, but when he prodded it with a finger, it came back damp…and muddy.

He beamed, "It's like a fancy mud bath, England! We should totally jump in it!"

England huffed, crossing his arms. "I don't think it wise to go jumping into places you cannot see the bottom of."

But America, having already yanked off his shirt and now starting to pull off his boots, was determined to at least find out how deep it was _personally_.

"Oh come on, live it a little England! Where's your sense of adventure?"

He rolled his eyes, trying not to stare at America as he pulled off his pants. "Staying safely out of the mud, thank you very much."

"Pfffft, what are you- some Frenchie afraid of getting mud in his hair?"

A fire lit itself in England's eyes at that, that burning hatred that he carried for France and all things French. Without another protest, he started to pull off his boots.

"Oh fine, I'll stick my legs in at least."

America grinned, already planning to drag England into the mud if it was deep enough to do so.

Tossing off his boxers, America slid into it, the mud warmly sloshing up to about his shoulders.

England gasped in concern, "America, what about your injuries?"

"You know…" he sniffed the air and gave England an honest smile, knowing how worried he was, "I think this is mineral mud. You know, like the stuff they use at those luxury spas? Which is actually good for injuries."

England warily stuck a finger in it, eyebrows furrowed in thought. "And it's warm."

America lounged back in it, the mud being just enough cover all but his head and shoulders. "Well, there are volcanoes in the area. Probably geothermal heating of some sort. Feels so good on my back though…"

That seemed to get England to give in, sighing as he started to tug off his shirt. With a mischievous smirk, America grabbed up a handful of mud and lobbed it at England's back. It hit with a wet squelch.

"Ack! Bloody hell, America!"

The wet mud trailed down England's back and looked all the more ridiculous in the flickering of their two lanterns.

"Come on in, England- the mud is fine," he sing-songed.

England huffed and America launched another mud handful, this time hitting England's arm.

"It'll be good for your injured hand."

"You just want to cuddle with me while covered in filth, admit it," England shot back.

America just put on an innocent expression. "You can throw mud back at me, if you want."

England did just that, his handful hitting somewhere between America's cheek and neck and leaving a large muddy splatter mark.

And so, without another word, a mud-fight broke out; handful after handful being tossed back and forth without so much care where it landed, as long as it wasn't on the lanterns. England barely managed to shimmy out of his boxers and throw them a safe distance away before mud smacked wetly onto his bare bum.

He turned around, ready to retaliate, but America had disappeared from sight…outside his one tuft of hair, sticking up out of the mud like some sad parody of _Jaws_.

Slowly, the hair tuft came closer and closer until...

"Attack of the mud monster, rawr!" America yelled, reaching up out of the mud and pulling England in with a muddy splash.

They started laughing and throwing mud haphazardly, trying to wrestle mud out of each other's hands before the other could throw it. Finally a rogue throw landed on the side of the lantern, dimming their minimal light.

That brought their mud fight to a halt, both of them breathing heavily and tangled up in each other's limbs. America grinned lopsidedly down at England, who was pressed up flush against his front, his face flooding with heat as their bare groins bumped together.

England swallowed hard, and America followed suit.

"H-Hallo."

"Hi," America replied, breathlessly. And wow, England was really, _really_ damn attractive, even covered in mud. All the blood was rushing to his groin and America was just about to say something really witty, like, "Can I give you a _hand_ down there?" when England took the matter into his own hands, quite literally.

"A-Ah fuck, England."

"Don't think you're quite up for that, love," England rasped back, having grasped both of them at once and starting to stroke upwards. He rested his injured hand on America's shoulder.

Now that he thought about it, not that his brain was doing much thinking as the pleasant haze of sensation rippled up and down his spine along with England's ministrations, it probably would be really stupid to get _too_ into this, given his current injuries. But _damn_ was England really fucking hot right now and…

"Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium," he started listing off the periodic table of elements under his breath, trying to keep himself from jumping England completely. Problem was…

"Y-You bloody…" England kissed him soundly at that, their tongues mingling and the mineral tang of the mud on their lips. "B-Bloody wanker," he finally gasped out, giving both their lengths a hard pull.

America swore. Ah damn, he'd forgotten how worked up his science babble sometimes got England.

With a chuckle, he rested his forehead down against England's shoulder and murmured huskily, "Think you're the one…doing the wanking here, England."

"H-Hush."

"Boron, carbon, nitrogen…"

England kissed him again at that and America had a feeling it was partially just to shut him up. Though as he maneuvered them back against the edge of the mud pit, he thought that perhaps England just really wanted to kiss him. Which, America had to admit, he didn't mind one bit.

As a tingling sensation started coursing through his veins, not much different than the feeling of England's magic spell on him earlier, America shakily pressed a rough kiss to England's cheek before whispering in his ear.

"Love ya, England. Mud and all."

England hitched his breath, somewhere between a huff and a laugh, and replied back. First with a gentle kiss to America's lips, then with a quiet, "Right fool, you are."

"A fool you love."

He smiled then, pressing closer to America as he brought them nearer to a finish.

"Ridiculously so, mud and all."

* * *

They dripped a path of mud all the way from the mud pit to the mouth of the cave, where they were now both seated covered only in small towels they'd snatched out of their backpacks before sitting out in the rain to clean off.

England had to admit, even if it was very deep down in his rather punkish and pirateish type thoughts, that perhaps the mud bath and it's…subsequent activities was a brilliant idea after all.

Both of them seemed a lot less tense and America's injures, which were all bare now that they'd stripped him out of the muddy bandages, didn't look quite as severe as England had remembered them.

In fact, England glanced to his right hand where it rested under America's loose grip; even his own hand was looking a lot less raw around the cut's edges.

"So explain to me again, how does your magic bubble-dome thing let the rain through but not evil magic things?"

England shook his head, but scooted a bit closer to America all the same.

"A skilled caster can do that, make stipulations if you will of what can and cannot pass into a barrier."

"So like…Mr. Bear can get back in, right?"

"Yes, Pastuso can get back in. Don't worry yourself about that."

America laughed, resting his head on England's shoulder and giving his hand a very gentle squeeze. "I'm more worried about if I'll ever get this mud out of my ears."

England leaned over and pressed a kiss to America's forehead, "Git. That's what you get for being such a prat."

Shifting, America leaned in and was just about to kiss England when he froze up, his face going scarlet.

"W-What?" England whipped his head around and felt his face heating up as well.

There was Pastuso, seated right outside the barrier, giving them both a look as if he might as well have been telling them, "Didn't I give you enough alone time, jeez."

Flustered, they both decided that they were clean enough and padded back into the cave to put their clothes back on. Pastuso quickly ate the sandwich England had left out for him, then he snatched up the small bundle of flowers and leaves he'd returned with.

"What's he doing with that?" America asked as England worked on rebandaging his deeper cuts and darker bruises.

"Haven't the foggiest."

They both watched the bear for awhile, until without pretense, he darted into a corner of the cave they'd yet to explore. Crouching down as if he was crawling, the bear seemed to enter into a small passageway there and…disappeared into the tunnel.

England looked to America, already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. "Should we follow him?"

America nodded fervently. "I think he wants us to. Like he…wants to show us something?"

Tying off the last of America's bandages, England sighed.

"I was afraid of that."

TO BE CONTINUED...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes:**So sorry for the delay on this! Hopefully it's worth the wait :)

* * *

Tony woke up in a rumpled pile of Poland's arms and Lithuania's hair. He dislodged himself from the pair, who were both still sound asleep after they'd marathoned all the _High School Musical_ movies the night before.

But, looking at the clock on the mantle, Tony had more pressing matters to attend to than his own sleep-withdrawal.

Picking up his iPhone, the latest model America had gotten for him, he noticed a message back about the mysterious writing.

A frown crossed his lips as he saw that America thought that they _might_ have seen something similar and Tony wished with all three of his hearts that it wasn't the case. Scrolling to his contacts, he quickly dialed America and waited patiently as he could while it rang through.

"Tony? Hey, what's up?"

Tony could hear England's huff in the background and he quickly switched over to his native alien tongue. Thankfully, after many years of teaching it to America, the nation was now fluent in it.

_"I've been fucking worried sick about you,"_he admitted with a catch in his throat. He hadn't intended in just blurting that out, but something about hearing America's voice just…made him unable to hold back.

America's smile was tangible over the phone. "I'm okay, I promise. Got a bit banged up but, I'll be fine. I have two very diligent heroes looking after me. You'd like Mr. Bear, he's super awesome."

_"Wish I could be there to help,"_ Tony sulked. _"Fucking dangerous."_

"You worried about that thing you texted me about?"

_"Do you have an image of what you saw? It's fucking bad news, America." _

"No, Mr. Bear got pissed off at it and chucked it out of the cave. But if I see anything else like it, I'll let you know right away. Okay?"

_"That is acceptable. But you need to be safer, America. You're…"_the alien trailed off, looking over to Poland and Lithuania.

Sure, he had some friends here on this planet. But he'd remained on Earth for one reason and one reason alone after he'd crashed in Roswell. And the last thing he wanted was for that person to get seriously hurt or worse.

_"You're vitally important to my happiness, America. Fucking remember that."_

America chuckled, then in his own awkward rendition of Tony's language, replied. _"And I wouldn't know how to live without you sometimes. I know not everyone gets to have an alien friend, but I'm just super lucky just to know you, you know? Plus hey, who else would get me through those zombie games?"_

Tony laughed at that. _"Certainly not England."_

"Hey, you used his name!"

Tony swore.

_"Hey now, England's been making sure I haven't hurt myself further. That's good right?"_ America replied, _"So, trust England to keep me safe."_He switched back to English then, "And if anything gets really bad, one of us will call you right away. That's a promise."

Tony, following suit, spoke in English in return, "Fucking take care, America. I will trust him on behalf of you."

"Thank you. Now go get some more sleep or brew up some coffee, you sound exhausted."

And touched that America was worrying about him in return, Tony smiled. "Fucking will. Until we speak again, America."

"Later Tony."

* * *

England was giving America a look as he stashed his phone back away in his bag, a pointed glare that was accompanied by large furrowed eyebrows.

"What did you say to him?" England groused.

America sighed. "Are you seriously getting jealous over me talking in alien to Tony?"

"N-No," England replied, his face heating up. "That's not it at all. Just, I caught bits and pieces and I was wondering why you'd switched over."

With a smile, America leaned his forehead down against England's.

"I was assuring my very worried alien friend that there is someone here who loves me loads who is personally making sure I am not getting hurt too badly."

"G-Git," he murmured, flushing a brighter red. "Why didn't you say that aloud then?"

"I was embarrassed, okay?" America relented, pinking a bit in his cheeks as well. "Have to keep up my awesome heroic image."

England chuckled at that. "Your heroic image, or whatever rubbish, is safe with me."

"Good," America replied, pressing a quick kiss to England's lips. "Glad to know that no evil doer will be able to use my…er…mushy side against me."

"Yes, can't have all those spandex-wearing, caped baddies blackmailing you."

Putting on his most dashing grin, America replied, "Evil comes in many forms and I must be ready to face them at all times. It is the duty of a hero."

England pecked a kiss to the tip of America's nose. "You are utterly adorable, you know that?"

He pouted. "I was going for dramatic and valiant."

Reaching down, England took America's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sure it will sound very much so when you write it in your memoir."

"Of course, it's an adventure journal after all! Speaking of that," America's eyes drifted to the corner of the cave where Mr. Bear had disappeared into, "I think, good sir, we have some adventuring to do."

England stepped back and held out an arm to America. "Shall we go then, Mr. Jones?"

America looped his arm through England's. "Certainly, my good man! Jolly good!"

He got an elbow in the side (a gentle one) from England at that. "I don't talk like that anymore."

"_Anymore_," he stressed, sticking out his tongue.

"Oh hush. Let's get on with this."

"Pip pip, cheerio!"

"Oi, shut it!"

America beamed. "You're the one who's always telling me to speak your type of English."

England, who had led America over to the corner of the cave, was starting to feel around the wall with his free hand. He paused to give America a look.

"What? Isn't all that 'good show, old sport!' stuff English?"

"If you don't want your heroic image tainted, I'd suggest you help me investigate this rather than prattling on, America."

America, who could tell that England wasn't actually mad at him, just his usually irritable grumpy state, quipped back.

"What poppycock is this buffoonery?"

"I ain't got a clue there, pardner," England shot back in a thick western drawl, "I sure as tootin' haven't seen the likes of critters wrassling 'bout in these here parts before!"

America blinked. Then stared. Then burst into a peal of laughter, which England soon joined.

"I did sound really ridiculous back then, didn't I?"

"We all have those…unfortunate language quirks sometime in our lives as nations," England replied. "Thankfully, we've grown out of it, unlike that _frog_ who still insists on speaking that abomination of a so-called language."

America shook his head, used to England's long-standing hatred of France, and he crouched down to inspect the rock wall around the opening.

"Something feels…off."

England nodded. He reached into his bag and pulled out his pouch, opening to withdraw the spell book inside.

After a few flicks through the dog-earred pages, he paused and held out a hand towards the opening the bear had entered.

"Cyðan eower deogol," he said forcefully.

A shimmering and crackling purple flame flickered over the entrance, as if it was covered in a large bubble. England frowned as the flame dissipated.

"So…what's that then?" America asked, looking warily at where the flames had been.

"A veil of darkness has been cast upon this route," England said, mumbling another spell under his breath. As a small handful of green flame emerged from his hand, he demonstrated by holding that towards the entrance.

Sure enough, as soon as the flame entered where the bubble had been, the light went black.

"It will still burn, but it will give no light," he clarified, pulling his hand back until the flame turned green again. "Someone doesn't want just anyone entering this passage."

"Which of course means…"

"We're going to enter it."

* * *

It is often said that part of the appeal of adventure is that you never quite know what you're getting yourself into. England, on the other hand, thought that appeal might just end at the point where you _literally_ cannot see what you are getting yourself into.

After having a lengthy discussion with America about why the magic, though old, would still apply to the flashlights and electric lanterns, England had finally convinced him (after sticking one said lantern into the entrance and demonstrating it's inability to override the magic) to let England enter the passage first.

And so, armed with a few essentials in case this little excursion ended up being a bigger adventure than they anticipated, England crouched down and crawled into the opening.

It was, perhaps, only barely big enough for Pastuso to crawl through. Much like the door to a child's playhouse, or (England though to himself ironically) the door Alice took to Wonderland.

Although, he supposed, at least he hadn't been required to eat or drink anything strange in order to fit.

"Hey England…" America's voice floated up from the echoes of the cavern behind him. Being in such a small crawl-space, in the pitch darkness, was a tad disorienting and it made America's voice seem more distant than England knew it was.

"Yes?"

"So is old magic sorta like you? Still works just as well even though it's freaking ancient?"

England spluttered at that, and forgetting his position, ended up bumping his head up into the rock as he tried (and failed) to turn around to berate America.

"Christ, that smarts," he murmured, rubbing at the welt growing on his skull.

At that, he felt America's unsure hands reaching out in the blackness, feeling around his form awkwardly until he gently brushed England's hand where it rested on his head.

"Sorry," he said.

England, blindly reaching out as well, ran his fingers up the front of America's outfit; the rough khaki fabric giving way to the soft flesh of America's neck.

He trailed his fingers around, slowly rubbing circles at the nape, and smiled to himself as he felt America shudder at his innocent touch.

"It's all right. Just forgot we're in a tunnel that's hardly fit for a bear, let alone something our size. Even a hobbit wouldn't manage this without ducking."

England could feel the muscles in America's neck shift and he knew immediately, America was giving him one of those soft smiles.

"If you can direct me in your direction, I could…kiss and make it better," he mumbled quietly.

And although it was downright silly, England did just that.

His worn, callused hands moving around to cup America's face, which he slowly directed forward; and with a blush he knew would be quite scarlet if there were any light, England closed the space between them.

Their noses bumped a little, but with a little smidgen of laughter on both their parts, they finally managed to find each other's lips and seal the kiss.

America, dork that he was, was smiling so obviously that England could bloody _feel_ it on his lips.

"R-Right then, better carry on."

"Can I finish my question then?"

England, expecting more mockery of his age, sighed and trudged onward. "I suppose…"

"Well, I was just honestly curious. Is old magic just consistent or is it like some really amazing things and gets better with age?"

And although he knew America was quite proud of his wines, England knew that wasn't the aged subject he was talking about. Plus, he thought with a smile quirking at his lips, America was complimenting him _and_ showing interest in his magic without being completely unbelieving of it all.

Perhaps America had hit his head harder than they'd first thought.

"It depends," England explained, squeezing up and over a large stalagmite, "some casters will anticipate that magic will grow with time, so they put their spell on sort of a time-release method. Those will gain strength as time passes. Others are assured enough in their current skill, or have come to terms with the fact that magic in all societies is often a dying art, and will merely trust that what they cast will hold."

"So when I recount Alfred Jones's amazing adventures, which is more accurate a name for this? _Tunnel of Eternal Night_ or _Passage of Deadly Darkness_?"

England almost had to pause at the sudden change in direction of their conversation, but he found he was oddly used to it. America seemed to have about twenty thought processes going at once and sometimes he would switch from one to the next without a moment's hesitation.

"It's probably from an old magic in which they use darkness powder. Personally, both of those sound a bit ridiculous."

America seemed to consider that before, as he accidentally put his hand atop England's ankle, he replied, "Okay, but which one sounds more dangerous and therefore more heroic for us to conquer?"

"The first," England replied, shaking his head at where America's priorities were.

"Awesome."

England slid a bit down what felt like a short slide then, America following so close behind that he didn't have a second to warn him.

They landed in a heap, both of them trying in the dark to right themselves and make sure the other wasn't injured.

"You okay?"

"Nothing scraped or bruised?"

"I didn't hit your head did I?"

"America, you're the one that got knocked out by an exploding tree. It's your head we should be worried about."

They both groped about in each other's hair, gently prodding at their respective welts.

"Ow."

"Sorry. Does it hurt anymore than it did before?" England asked, moments before America's fingers found his new injury. "O-Ouch!"

"You tell me, how's your head feel?"

"All right, so they both hurt. We can't do much else until we can see, agreed?"

"Yeah. Let's keep moving."

But the fall seemed to shake them a little, both of them pausing every so often just to feel the space ahead of them and America beginning to jump at every little noise.

"I sense no ghastly presence if that's what you're worrying about," England assured him.

America laughed nervously. "Y-Yeah, of c-course not!"

England noticed that America began following him a little closer after that.

* * *

After what seemed like at least half an hour, England saw what he hoped was a flicker of light up ahead. He was just about to point out this fact to America when America suddenly grabbed him from behind, clinging to him rather tightly.

"America, what in the blazes are you…"

"Listen," he rasped, practically shivering. "England, listen!"

Straining his ears, he could hear it- a low and ominous rumbling in the distance. At first, England hoped it was a thunderstorm outside, but then he realized that the sound was edging ever closer and yet they hadn't moved at all.

"England, what is it?" America asked, sounding thoroughly worried. "Is it a g-ghost?"

He blindly fumbled around until he found America's hand, which he grasped. "I don't know what it is, America. But…" He pulled America up snug against his side so they could crawl together, "we must reach that light before it reaches us. That's…all we can do. Because whatever it is...it can't be good."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes:**I know it's been terribly long since I've written, let alone on this fic. Hopefully now that I've gotten some of my health problems a bit sorted out, I can keep writing. Thank you all for your patience on waiting for my updates on this! I'm hoping to have the next chapter finished sometime in July (I'll be on vacation soon or I'd work on it right away). :)

* * *

The irony that there was a _light at the end of the tunnel _was not lost on England, who felt America's insistent hand clutching at his side ever tighter as the thunderous noise grew closer. He was about to suggest that they try and hurry forward when suddenly the crawl space they were in dipped down steeply.

_Oh, so that's their trap_, England thought to himself sardonically. _Taunt you with the light then crush you against the higher cavern ground you can't see until it's too late._

"England, why aren't we moving?" America's worried voice echoed behind him.

He sighed, already dreading trying to figure out how to navigate this obstacle without any semblance of sight. Finally, he thought of the only option available.

"There's a steep ledge here we've got to get up and over. You are going first, because if I can't make it over in time I might be able to use magic to stop whatever the bloody hell this thing is coming at us."

"_Might?_" America's worried pout was palpable in his tone.

England retorted with science, which he knew America wouldn't argue as much.

"And you are a bit taller so therefore you can reach it better if it's higher up. I don't want to get up there only to say I can't quite reach, you know."

Science, as expected, appeased America somewhat. "Okay, but I'm not leaving you behind to face that…whatever!"

England smiled despite himself; then shaking his head of sentimentality, he focused back on the matter at hand.

_Right then. We're in a dark, sloping cavern tunnel. There was a light up ahead, so hopefully once America is up there he can see what's going on. But for now, we're in the dark, quite literally._

He edged closer to the solid rock wall in their way and put his hands down. "Okay America, I have a foothold down."

It took a few tries in the dark, but thankfully they knew each other well enough that America seemed to estimate pretty quickly where England's hands were held. Once his foot was secure in England's grip, it wasn't long before he was lifted up and grabbed hold of the ledge.

"Got the top of the wall!"

But, as if it sensed that its prey was about to escape, the ominous noise grew ever nearer.

"England, you've got to get up here now!" America called down. "Grab my hand!"

Looking up towards his voice, as if it would somehow help him discern where the hand was held, England began to stretch his hand out in hopes to find America's hand in the bleak darkness. He could feel the oncoming boulder, for now he was certain that is what it was, probably triggered by them passing a certain point. He hoped that his enchantment would protect them this deep into the cave, but since he felt no other magic outside the darkness, England felt safe in assuming that this was a sensor-triggered attack, not a planned one.

And somehow, that thought, that little bit of reassurance that this was nothing more than some ancient trap meant to keep people away, gave England the focus he needed to find the strong and lean fingers he knew so well.

America's grip on his hand was firm, sliding slowly down his wrist and forming a tight bond that would lift him up to safety.

Reaching up with his other hand, and ignoring the twinge of pain from his palm's injury, he held on and let America pull him up to the top. His feet scraped the ledge, his head brushing the tunnel ceiling uncomfortably and causing him to duck down a tad.

"Where did the light go?" He pondered aloud as he noticed the bleak darkness that stretched ahead.

America, who seemed to be seated on the ledge, put his hand up on England's side. "It just vanished a moment ago. The rest of the way down seems to be pretty much like a slide, so...if you trust me?"

England grabbed the hand on his side and gave it a squeeze. "Git. Of course I do. Now let's get out of this bloody tunnel."

And, as if it was some thrilling water park attraction, America gave out a loud whoop that echoed off the cavern walls. England, who still holding on to America's hand, felt himself suddenly sliding downward towards what he was hoping was the exit.

A rippling sensation permeated England's magic perception and he knew that if he struck a light now, it would shine. They'd left the enchantment that had kept them in the dark and England quickly conjured up a one-handed spell that caused a small purple flame to erupt in his free hand.

The small flicker of light illuminated what remained of the tunnel, the limestone all flowing into a smooth runoff pattern here that was, as America noted, reminiscent of a slide.

England was not surprised to find a certain bear waiting at the bottom for him. Although at this point, he would have been startled to not find him there. There was something about this bear that was far from normal, but no matter what England tried to make of him, he still couldn't figure out what else the bear could be but a very wise animal. But there had to be more to it than that, right?

* * *

America grinned on seeing Mr. Bear and reached down to give him a pet between the ears. The bear let out a purring noise and seemed to smile up at him, proud that they'd taken the hint and followed.

"You could have warned us about the last part, you know," America teased. "Though I guess you know how to get down that tunnel without setting off the boulder."

Mr. Bear seemed to think about that before cocking his head to the side. Clearly, he'd never experienced such a trap before. America just smiled and crouched down to his level.

"It's okay. We both know it wasn't your trap. Right England?"

England blinked, his thoughts being elsewhere, and looked over at the bear. "Oh. It most certainly wasn't your doing, Pastuso."

The bear trotted over and gave England's side a nuzzle at that before starting to nudge the two forward. Now, with the ordeal of the tunnel behind them, they both fully took in the room they'd entered. It was hard to tell completely how the cavern room was laid out with just the flickering light in England's hand to illuminate it, but the high ceiling was obvious on first glance.

"Wow," America said, his breath tickling England's neck as he leaned over toward him.

Far above, but still not yet quite at the top of the long cavernous shaft, there was a small hole that allowed a pocket of light to shine in. Mr. Bear, as if he was pleased to finally have someone to show this trick, padded over to a small rock hewn altar. Next to it was a cord, which he gripped in his teeth and yanked.

The room came alive in a flourish of gold. A golden circle captured the sunlight and shone it down into other golden reflectors, illuminating them all in a gilded glow. England's fingers dropped his small, now insignificant light, and he gently took America's hand.

"It's beautiful," he murmured.

"Yeah," America agreed, his eyes flickering from the crisscross of light making its way down to the man beside him. "Really brings out your eyes, you know?"

England started, glancing over at America who was looking at him with a little half-smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "Git. All these wonderful, probably not seen in hundreds of years, details and you're looking at me?"

America shrugged. "What can I say; I'm always drawn to the oldest thing in the room."

He got shoved lightly in the shoulder at that and began to laugh, as he glanced around at all the details England spoke of. There was, as they'd first noted, a chain of golden circles or plates of some sort that were triggered to shift with the pull of the rope. Below that, was an altar which held a collection of small trinkets atop it, along with the flowers they'd seen Mr. Bear with before. Whoever this altar was in remembrance of, it seemed, Mr. Bear must have liked them well. The sides of the chamber were bare outside the small circles, but above the altar was a mural of color depicting something in small pictograms.

Slowly, as if this stroke of luck was certainly to end soon, America began to walk forward, tugging England along to follow.

That's when England came to a stop. "America, look at the floor. This must be man-made."

Looking down, America saw immediately what England meant. The floor was made up of rows of tiles, circling the chamber walls and ending in a large ornate circle in the middle. England knelt down to inspect it and America crouched beside him.

"I feel as if I've seen something like this before," England noted, running his fingertips over the dusty floor. "Usually any carving with figures seems to be pre-Incan, but this isn't any of those. It's…"

He scrunched up his eyebrows in thought and America reached down and took his hand. "Come on England, think. It has to be something you're more familiar with than I am because I'm not placing it."

"The British Museum," England mumbled more to himself than aloud. "There's one vessel in their collection that's not on display that depicts figures thought to be from the earlier colonial period of the Inca. This…this looks very similar to that."

"So we're in a room with gold lights, Inca carving on the floor and it seems like Mr. Bear is friends with whoever the altar's for. Sounds like we've found something here, England."

England smiled as he gave America's hand a squeeze. "Most definitely something. Now only to determine what."

A deep rumble resounded at that, the floor vibrating with it. America looked to England, and they both stood up and gripped each other's forearms.

Knowing the sensation in his bones so well, America sighed. "England, this feels like SanFran. We've got some geologic activity incoming."

"An earthquake? In a cave shaft?" England asked, his grip growing firmer on America's arm.

"Either that or…" A warm rush of air blew up through the cracks in the flooring. "It's a shaft for something else."

England gasped, "Are we on a volcano?"

America shrugged. "Or a geyser. Won't know 'til she blows."

"Why aren't you worried about this you ninny? We need to be climbing back up that tunnel or finding another way out or…"

"Ride it up to the top?" America replied with a grin.

England huffed, the floor tiles starting to tremble under his feet even more. "Are you barmy?"

"The air pressure above the magma or water should shoot us up before the whatever else hits us. It'll be awesome!"

"Your definition of 'awesome' includes too many dangerous activities, America."

America reached down and nudged the pouch looped around England's belt. He smirked, feeling the steam beginning to fog up his glasses.

"Well then, how about a little magic?"

* * *

The thoughts rushing through England's mind were all but a jumble. America's crazed suggestion, mixing with confusion and then pride as the subject turned to his magic. Was America testing it? He had seemed skeptical in the past. But no, America would never be so cruel as to put something he knew England treasured to so harsh a test. If anything, and this England thought was most likely the answer he sought, it was more like America was testing his own belief in the magic. America knew England would protect him, even if he didn't quite believe in the how.

But magic, magic took time. Time to lay the circle, time to conjure the best spells up, time it seemed they didn't have as a luxury at that moment.

"That might take a bit, America. Right now we should…" The engraved circle, the keystone of the floor, rattled once then slipped into the inky blackness below. England's eyes went wide. "RUN!"

Tile by tile, it shifted into the blackness, their footsteps only seconds ahead as their footholds fell into the dark. America's hand was warm at England's elbow, steadying him as he struggled to pull his book from his pouch along with some ingredients for a quick spell.

"Got any pixie dust in there? I can start thinking up a happy thought," America quipped.

England sighed, shoving America ahead before the tiles he stood fell out from under him. "Pixie dust isn't that easy to come by," he replied, the whole chasm trembling now as the floor sank beneath them. "If it was, every drunken practitioner of magic in the Isles would be floating about all the time."

As they neared the altar, Pastuso called out to them then looked up meaningfully at the pictograms above the altar. England didn't even have to think twice, a smirk tugging at his lips as they reached the outermost edge of tiles.

"Looks like this row doesn't fall," America noted as they stood on the solid tiles.

England drew out a piece of rolled parchment and held it out to America. "Hold onto this, America."  
"What for?"

"One," England pointed across the gaping hole in the room to where the ring of outer tiles rested against the opposite wall, "this row isn't safe."

Sure enough, the tiles weren't falling, but instead were slowly being withdrawn into the rock wall itself. America swore.

"Two, we need to take a quick picture of this drawing before we get out."

America looked from the paper to England. "I don't think hand drawing it will be a quick job, England."

He looked up at his partner then, a wan smile on his lips. "If only you'd believe, you'd understand."

With that, England tossed a blue powder into the air and chanted the incantation as swiftly as he could manage. "frumræden béo hrímigheard on þý hwílsticce sylfum hæs."

The air shimmered a brief moment before the floor fell out from under them.

* * *

The excitement and flair of New York City at Christmas was nothing once you'd seen it year after year, Tony decided. The bustling crowds, decorations and lights were pretty much cookie-cutter replications of the ones the year before. He sighed, the scarf that Poland and Lithuania had given him muffling the sound. America always managed to make it seem exciting, but without him it just wasn't the same.

Poland, at least, seemed to be beyond excited. Talking quickly and pointing out high fashions in various windows that he wanted to try on or force on one of the others. Lithuania, patient as always, would give Poland a strained smile and say, "Maybe later, okay?"

So they journeyed from one place to the next, going in and out of fitting rooms to try on various concoctions of clothing that Poland had whipped up. Tony was always pleased when it seemed Poland had found something Lithuania really liked, because the nation's eyes would light up in a certain way that just made him glow.

Lithuania, Tony had sworn since the twenties, deserved every happy smile he'd ever made and then some.

They were standing in the Times Square Disney Store, Poland cooing over how cute Tony looked in a Christmas-themed Mickey Mouse shirt, when his phone let out a little trill. Tony froze, his eyes darting up to Lithuania who seemed to realize immediately something was wrong.

"Poland, why don't we let Tony look around for a bit on his own? He can't do any Christmas shopping if we're breathing down his neck the whole time."

"Like that's totally okay, Tony!" Poland replied, grinning. "Just meet us down at the Princess stuff, I like totally want one of the tiaras for my pony."

As Poland headed off, Lithuania paused a moment and laid a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder. "If you need anything, come get me right away, okay?"

"Thanks," Tony mumbled, watching out of the corner of his eye as Lithuania dashed away to catch up to his partner.

Pulling his phone out of the pocket of his coat, Tony frowned at the readings the screen displayed. The alarm hadn't been a call or text, but an alert he'd set up to keep tabs on America. And right now, the device was showing some very strange readings.

It had issued an alert a few seconds earlier showing that America had been falling at a great rate. But now, much to Tony's bewilderment, it was telling him something that he didn't think possible. Or at least, not possible without him there to help.

"Fucking England," he grumbled. "That sort of power is not fucking common in you Earthlings at all."

* * *

to be continued...


End file.
